


Paradise Circus

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Family, Abusive Fathers, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Child Abuse, Dorks, Drama Kid Dean, Fencer Castiel, High School, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Senior year, Slow Build, Socially Awkward Castiel, Triggers, and is mentioned/referred to at many points throughout the rest of the fic, incest rape, the noncon occurs in Chapter 21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 148,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is the overachieving, friendless, socially awkward star of the school's fencing team. Dean Winchester enjoys English and the drama program. During their senior year at Lawrence Magnet High School, they meet in gym class. As Castiel and Dean grow closer, they endure all the trials the year brings to them, including homework, tests, social gatherings, parties, homecoming, prom, and graduation. Not to mention personal angst and abusive fathers. They help each other cope, and a profound bond takes root.</p><p>Some chapters contain potentially triggering content. Mind the warnings at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to School

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> The title comes from Massive Attack's ["Paradise Circus."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEgX64n3T7g) I feel like the mood of the song fits with the story.
> 
> A few caveats. One, I'm not sure how often I'll update since I'm editing my DCBB and working on another WIP. This idea popped up in my head, though, and I wondered if it was worth pursuing. The second chapter is very clear in my mind, so who knows, maybe I'll update sooner than I thought.
> 
> At the beginning of this fic, Castiel is 16 and Dean is 17. Later, Castiel will still be 16 after Dean turns 18.
> 
> I know nothing about Lawrence, Kansas. Lawrence Magnet High School is fictional. Just consider this a fictional Lawrence setting. There are magnet schools that focus on a particular discipline, but there are also magnet schools that focus on academics in general. Castiel, Dean, et al. attend the latter. I modeled a few bits of the high school after my own, and I thought this particular setting might make for a less cliched high school AU. 
> 
> I know very little about fencing, so I apologize if I make any egregious mistakes. The after-school gym class described here actually existed at my high school.
> 
> I'm also not that savvy about what goes on in high schools these days, so consider this set some time in the mid-2000s. (Here I am dating myself.)
> 
> This story will contain many characters, but I'm not sure how prominent any of them will be, except for Castiel, Dean, and their families. Other tags will be added as they become relevant.
> 
> Finally, feedback is welcome and much appreciated! I'm quite unsure about writing a high school AU, as so many such fics already exist. 
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr under the same name.

They met in seventh-hour gym class.

Otherwise known as after-school gym. Technically, six periods comprised the school day, but sometimes students had difficulty fitting their P.E. requirements into their schedules if they wished to take an extra elective.

In the middle of his junior year, Dean Winchester had transferred to Lawrence Magnet High School from out of state. At his old high school, he had needed only one year of P.E. to graduate, but here he needed two. However, he wanted to take drama and participate in school productions, just as he had in Dallas.

So he found himself stuck in gym with a bunch of freshmen and sophomores. Seventh-hour gym was devoted exclusively to fencing; at least that sounded pretty cool.

Castiel Novak was enrolled in the course precisely for that reason. He was the star of Lawrence Magnet’s fencing team. He was at the top of his class, and he took only honors and AP classes. He figured he could use the class to practice, and the easy A would add credits to his GPA. He _needed_ to be valedictorian, and he vowed to attain this goal even if it killed him.

After roll was called, Castiel hurried to his own little corner to suit up and execute a few cursory moves with his sabre. On the other side of the room, everyone else riffled through jackets to find one that fit. Ms. Mills handed each student a foil, explaining that it was the best sword to start out with. After slowly demonstrating a few moves, Ms. Mills let them practice the motions on their own.

Castiel decided to take a break and examine the other students’ techniques. Who knew, he might find someone who could be great for the fencing team. With a little practice, of course. The freshmen and sophomores gave him dubious looks as he walked by; it seemed they’d already heard the rumors about his standoffishness. The last student he encountered was in the back near the wall, and he seemed too . . . filled out, yes, that would be the term, to be a freshman or sophomore. All of the freshmen and half the sophomores looked like they still belonged in middle school. This person, though, was muscular, with a scattering of freckles over his face and green eyes that hinted at a hidden depth. Sweat clung to his dirty blonde hair. Castiel frowned. This guy seemed like the stereotypical jock, minus a couple of details. Why would he wish to attend Lawrence Magnet, a school that had no football team, basketball team, or cheerleading squad?

Castiel’s gaze roved from the boy’s eyes to his hands, immediately taking note of the clumsy way he held the foil. “You’re doing it wrong,” Castiel commented.

“How do you know? Screw you!” the boy hissed.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I am the captain of the fencing team. I placed second at state in the sabre last year.”

“Yeah, _second_ ,” the boy scoffed.

“I will win this year.”

“Probably ’cause the other dude graduated.”

“He did not. He won only because the judges granted him a touch when they shouldn’t have.” Why was he defending himself to this jerk?

The guy didn’t respond, so Castiel snatched the foil from him. “Here. You should hold it like this.” He demonstrated the proper grip.

“I was doing that!” the blonde boy exclaimed.

“No, you weren’t. You need to make sure your thumb is _below_ the grip.” At the boy’s puzzled expression, Castiel gestured at the circular apparatus above the handle. “That is the grip.”

“Oh.”

Castiel handed back the foil and said, “By the way, my name is Castiel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester,” the guy huffed.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Dean laughed. “What amuses you so?”

“Nothin’. Just. Anyone ever tell ya you don’t talk like a normal human?” Castiel shook his head. He did not possess any friends, and he never had. Only Father and his brothers talked to him, and his teachers. Occasionally the fencing team. “Well, you don’t. Anyway. I guess you’re a sophomore.”

“I am a senior, actually.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome. Me, too.”

“If you are a senior, then why are you in this class?”

“A guy’s gotta fuckin’ graduate.”

Castiel’s eyes scanned their surroundings before settling back on Dean. “I would not curse in front of Ms. Mills if I were you. She will wash your mouth out with soap.” Dean chortled. “I am serious. Once, I accidentally pronounced an expletive during practice.” Castiel wrinkled his face in disgust. “The taste was not pleasant.” Footsteps indicated the fencing instructor’s approach. Castiel turned to her. “I was just showing Dean the correct technique, Ms. Mills.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” Ms. Mills replied. “That is very generous of you. Would you mind going back to your practice area? Or you can stay if you want.” She smiled mischievously. “That is, if you want to watch 'An Introduction to Fencing.'”

He scurried back to his corner of the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

After gym class, Dean rushed to the front of the school, where he found Sam with a book, his nose practically touching the page.

“Did ya get bored?” Dean asked.

Sam jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice. A minute later, he shook his head, brown bangs falling over his hazel eyes with the motion. “I have my book.”

“What is that?” Dean peered at the title, and Sam gazed back self-consciously. “ _To Kill a Mockingbird_? Gettin’ started on your class reading already?”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled, his face reddening.

Dean mussed Sam’s hair, and his little brother scowled at him. “That’s one of the best books you’ll ever read." Aside from drama, English was his favorite subject. Oftentimes he was the only person in class who’d done the assigned reading. He did okay in his other classes, but he excelled in English. In some ways, it was a lot like drama.

“You could always take seventh-hour gym with me,” Dean continued. “Then you wouldn’t hafta sit here for an hour.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Ew, no. I don’t want to be in a class with _you_.” Dean threw his head back and laughed. Honestly, he wasn’t a fan of taking gym with the pipsqueak, either. You didn’t want to run into your siblings at school. It was so damn embarrassing, and the whole place gossiped about it all day.

“C’mon.” Dean began walking to his car, but Sam remained seated. Dean turned back and called, “If you don’t come, I’m leavin’ ya here.”

Sam stuck his bookmark inside the novel and muttered, “All right. Jeez. It was just getting good.”

The duo ambled toward the Impala that Dad had given Dean for his seventeenth birthday. It used to be Dad’s, but Dad had bought himself a new truck, so the Impala went to Dean. Dean had no complaints. Lots of people got new cars for their birthdays, but this one was _classic_. The most badass car in the universe.

After they slid into the car, Dean switched on the ignition and fondly announced, “Time to rock and roll, baby.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut your cakehole.”

“I didn’t—” Sam wisely shut up when Dean glared at him.

Led Zeppelin blared as Dean drove them home. Sam covered his ears the entire time, but at least he had enough sense not to ask Dean to change the music. He would just have to suffer, though Dean would hardly call it suffering. It wasn’t his fault the kid had no taste.

At home, Sam and Dean went to their bedrooms and started their homework. The usual routine. Dean didn’t have much to do except a few basic exercises about last year’s material, so he breezed through the homework. Then he settled on his bed, flipped on the TV, and tried to find something decent to watch. The History Channel had something on about Nazis and the occult. He learned some interesting shit. At one point, he heard noises that indicated his parents had come home. An hour later, Mom shouted, “Boys! Dinner!”

Sam and Dean met their parents at the kitchen table. Mom and Dad (well, mostly Mom) liked to have traditional family dinners, with everyone eating together and talking about their day. Dean often complained that it was dorky, but he secretly liked it.

Everyone was silent as they scooped fettuccini, salad, and garlic bread onto their plates. When they began eating, Mom inquired, “How was your day, John?”

“Bobby bought me lunch today,” Dad replied as he chewed. Mom glared at him, and he swallowed before he continued, “Nice seafood restaurant. Told me he might be givin’ me more responsibilities soon.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mom exclaimed. Dad had worked at Bobby Singer’s garage ever since they moved to Lawrence. Mom was the main breadwinner; she was a sales-rep for a textbook company. “And you, Dean?”

Dean smiled at his mom. “Y’know. It was just like any normal first day. Meet the teachers, meet some students you’ve never seen before, here’s what we’re doing this year, blah blah blah.”

Mom gave him a disapproving look. “Come, Dean. Something interesting must have happened.”

Dean shrugged. “I met this weird dude named Castiel.” Seriously, what kind of name was that? Would it be rude to ask? “I wonder if he’s related to Mr. Novak.” Zachariah Novak taught American government to sophomores, and from what he’d heard, the class was a real bitch.

“Mr. Novak’s his dad,” Sam piped up. Dean gawked at him. How did he know that?

“Did you meet Castiel, too?” Mom asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. But Ruby told me all about him. He’s supposed to be the best fencer in, like, the state.”

“Second best in sabre,” Dean muttered to himself.

“And,” Sam continued, “he’s wicked smart. She said he skipped eighth grade!”

“Okay,” Dean butted in. “One, who the hell is Ruby, and two, how does she know all that shit?” It was inconceivable that a freshman would know more about a senior than Dean did.

“Dean!” Mom chastised. “Manners!”

“Sorry.” He turned to Sam. “Well?”

“She’s just some kid in my geometry class. Her sister Lilith is a senior.” Lilith. Oh, yeah, Lilith DeVille. That prissy, stuck-up bitch. Last year, she’d agreed to go to prom with Garth, one of Dean’s friends. But she had arrived at his house with her posse, who had stripped him, spray painted him, and taken pictures. If Ruby was related to Lilith, then she was probably bad news.

“Sam, how was your first day of high school?” Mom asked. “That’s a pretty big jump from last year.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah. I got lost.” He flushed. “It’s, like, twice as big as the middle school. Kevin’s in a lot of my classes.” Like Sam, Kevin Tran was a huge nerd. The two had met in middle school last year and become fast friends.

“That’s good, dear.” She eyed everyone around the table then cleared her throat. “I’ll be going out of town in a week. Just for three days. I’m presenting the composition textbook to Garden City Community College.”

Shit. God, no.

With her job, Mom traveled a lot, attempting to convince colleges to adopt her company’s textbooks.

But when Mom went out of town, everything went to hell.

Dad lost his inhibitions. He never drank when Mom was home, nor did he keep alcohol in the house. But he raided the liquor store when she left and sometimes spent the whole time drunk.

Occasionally, he could get physical.

Dean ensured that Sam was never the target. He wanted to tell Mom, but Dad had said she wouldn’t believe him. Or maybe she would agree with Dad, Dean worried. Maybe she would think he deserved the punishments Dad meted out.

The last time Dad had been drunk around Mom was ten years ago. He’d given her a black eye, and she had threatened to leave him and take the kids if he drank another drop. So he had attended Alcoholics Anonymous and become sober.

Or so he would have Mom believe.

She would definitely disapprove of his drinking, but Dean was afraid to tell her about that, too. What if she didn’t believe him? Dad was always so pleasant when she was around, and he made sure all of his liquor was disposed of before she returned home.

“Now, you’ll have to take care of yourselves when I’m gone,” Mom said.

Dad grinned. “We’ll manage.”

xxxxxxxxx

After fencing class, Castiel rendezvoused with Father in his classroom, as per usual routine. Father stayed one hour after school catching up on his work; then he drove himself and Castiel home. This arrangement had existed since Castiel’s freshman year.

Father glanced up from a sheaf of papers and frowned. “You’re late.”

Why was Father grading tests already? Perhaps it was merely a diagnostic. Castiel eyed the clock in the back of the classroom and pointed out, “Only by two minutes.”

“Late is late,” Father groused. “How do you think ‘only two minutes’ would look in a job interview?”

“This is not a job interview.”

“Don’t sass me, boy!” Father stuffed the papers into his briefcase and stood up from the desk. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, Father.”

Castiel followed Father to the teachers’ parking lot, where they entered a red Mercedes Benz. It was nice, his colleagues always pointed out. Spotless on the outside, and it shone. No trash sullied the brown leather interior. Castiel wasn’t allowed to eat or drink in the car, which proved inconvenient after fencing tournaments.

“Get ready for dinner,” Father commanded when they arrived home. As they did every Wednesday, they would meet Michael for supper at a fancy restaurant. Michael was Castiel’s oldest brother, eleven years older and a successful lawyer. Father thought Michael was perfect.

But Father despised Gabriel. At twenty-three, Gabriel had a bachelor’s in art history and a job in a bookstore. Father disapproved of Gabriel’s “lifestyle.” He was openly bisexual, which apparently meant he was going to hell. Castiel was permitted to visit Gabriel every other weekend if he was “good.” He could never ascertain what “good” meant. Not annoying Father, perhaps, but sometimes it was hard to know what would annoy him.

Mother had left them ten years ago. One night she was there, and the next morning she was gone. Castiel didn’t blame her for wanting to escape Father, but he wished she had taken him and Gabriel with her.

Castiel threw on a pair of neatly pressed black slacks and a white button-down shirt. He finished the ensemble with a blue tie. He reverted to this classic look when he didn’t feel like thinking about what to wear.

“Castiel!” Father thundered.

Castiel finished tying his shoes and rushed into the living room, where Father was tapping his foot impatiently. “Yes, Father?”

“What took you so long?” Castiel tried to look contrite. “Don’t give me that innocent look,” Father scoffed. He squinted at Castiel and smoothed down a rogue lock of his son’s hair. After several attempts, he sighed. “Why does your hair always resist being tamed?” He clapped Castiel on the back. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, Father pulled into the parking lot of Angeli’s, an Italian restaurant. Michael had already been seated, and the hostess directed them to his table. As always, Michael’s brown hair, unlike Castiel’s, was immaculately flat and styled “properly.” Michael stood up and hugged first Father then him. Castiel disliked Michael’s hugs; they contained not an ounce of sincerity. Father snagged the seat beside Michael, and Castiel sat opposite from them. He picked up the menu and scanned it.

“I don’t know why you always look at that,” Michael remarked. “As often as we come here, you should have the menu memorized.”

“I don’t.”

“You always order the manicotti anyway.”

Castiel spoke without looking up from the menu. “I want to try something different. I need to know what else is available.”

Michael flicked the back of Castiel’s hand, and Castiel looked up, miffed. “Mind your manners, little brother. Look at the person you are addressing. No wonder you have no friends. You lack basic social skills.”

“I keep telling him to try talking to that nice girl,” Father inserted. “Lilith DeVille.”

“I do not like Lilith,” Castiel declared.

“That’s because you don’t know her.”

“No.” Like Castiel, Lilith was in the top ten of their class. Unlike Castiel, Lilith had many friends, but she was rotten to the core. She knew how to brownnose the teachers, but she was ruthless toward those she didn’t like. Fortunately, she ignored Castiel, as did the whole school. But he had heard a rumor about her doing something to Garth Fitzgerald during prom last year. He had been in only one class with Garth, but from what little he knew, Garth was a gentle soul. He didn’t deserve to be the target of Lilith’s antics.

“Why don’t you give her a chance?” Father inquired.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I do not want friends?” Father and Michael gawked at him.

“You have to have friends, Castiel,” Michael opined. “You know who doesn’t have friends? Creepy people. Criminals. School shooters.—”

“I would _never_ plan a school shooting,” Castiel bristled. Just because he didn’t want friends didn’t mean he wished to harm anyone.

Actually, he _did_ want friends, but he had never been socially competent. Now a senior, he had decided to give up. College would be a new environment, anyway. People with his interests were bound to exist at a place like Harvard or Yale.

“If nothing else, friends are useful. You can call on them for a favor,” Michael finished. God, Michael irked him so much sometimes. He wouldn’t want to befriend someone just to use them.

The waitress appeared, and they ordered. Father and Michael requested wine with their meals, and Castiel asked for water. He ordered chicken fettuccini alfredo, and not just to spite Michael (though that was definitely a bonus).

“So, Father, Castiel. How was the first day back at school?”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Father spoke first. “Hellish. The kids were all little nightmares, as usual. I hate having to be tough, but sometimes you’ve just gotta do what it takes to keep them in line.” Michael nodded in agreement, and Castiel restrained the urge to roll his eyes. After all, he didn't want to be subjected to one of Father’s lectures when they returned home.

Father had such contempt for his students that Castiel couldn’t comprehend why he had chosen his career path instead of something more to his liking. Castiel had asked about it once, and Father had given him a stern look then said the youth needed someone like him to keep them morally upright. He was the faculty sponsor of the FCA, or Fellowship of Christian Athletes. The club did not cater only to athletes, though; at Lawrence Magnet, it functioned more as a general Christian club. Lilith’s best friend Bela Talbot was president.

“How about you, Castiel?” Michael queried. “How was your day?”

“All right. I liked all my teachers. Mr. Turner was amusing.” Rufus Turner possessed a wonderfully sardonic wit. Castiel giggled the entire class period, and most of the class looked at him as if he were insane. They didn’t seem to understand that Mr. Turner was making sarcastic remarks as he explained the course to them.

“Oh, Mr. Turner. I remember him. His attitude is a bit too lax, as I recall,” Michael said.

“I told Castiel that taking AP Biology was a mistake,” Father interjected.

“I like biology,” Castiel defended. “Besides, you wanted me to take AP Chemistry with Mrs. White. Biology is preferable.” Father’s choice was hardly a surprise. Hester White was a stickler much like him. Castiel dealt with that sort of adult enough at home.

“Oh, Mrs. White! Yes, her class was phenomenal. I made a five on the AP test.”

The waitress returned, plopping a dish in front of each Novak. Castiel picked up his fork and shoveled the pasta into his mouth. It was _good_. He might have to forsake manicotti and make this dish his new regular choice. He ignored Father and Michael’s conversation while he ate. Doing so allowed him to enjoy his food in peace, and he didn’t want to hear what they were discussing, anyway. They often said things he disagreed with, which meant he would struggle not to argue. If he did object to their words, Father often lost his temper. But sometimes he could not help inserting a comment. Like now, when they were taking jabs at Gabriel.—

“Sometimes I’m afraid he will do nothing but flip burgers for the rest of his life,” Father lamented.

“We both know he will never make anything of himself, Father. If I were you, I would forbid Castiel from seeing him. Before he corrupts baby brother.”

“Gabriel is _not_ corrupting me,” Castiel snarled. “Why don’t you two leave him alone? He will figure out things on his own, at his own pace. He’s content, and isn’t that the most important thing?” Father and Michael stared back at him as if he’d just uttered something barbaric.

“Oh, Castiel,” Father sighed. “You know there’s more to life than that.”

“Yes, Father.” He excused himself and rushed to the bathroom, where he covered his face with his hands. Tears dripped between his fingers onto the polished black floor.

Yes, he knew that very well. Hence why he told himself friends didn’t matter. He would make the grades, be at the top here, at the top in college, and become just like Michael. Successful yet empty.

Sometimes he wished he could be Gabriel.


	2. Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just came to me; I won't be posting the next chapter so quickly. 
> 
> It contains a passing reference to drug usage.
> 
> Two things I probably should have noted with the first chapter: The Destiel won't happen for a little while because Dean and Cas have to become close friends first. Also, the Explicit rating won't apply until later in the story. The first few chapters fit more closely with the Teen rating, but I wanted to indicate that there will be explicit content at some point.
> 
> Finally, I realized I made a mistake with regard to Sam's age. If Dean starts the school year at seventeen, Sam has to be three years younger than Dean. So that's the age gap between them in this fic.

After third period, Dean grabbed his lunch from his locker and headed to the walkway by the edge of the courtyard, where his core group of friends met at this time. He dropped his paper sack in front of himself, unrolled the top, and pulled out the Twinkie his mom had packed.

“God, Dean,” Jo commented. “Don’t you _ever_ save your dessert for last?”

Dean unwrapped the Twinkie and took a huge bite. “Why the hell should I do that?” he retorted while chewing. Jo winced.

“Ugh. Caveman.” Dean chuckled.

He swallowed, glanced around, and noticed the boy from gym class, Castiel, settle in a spot by the entrance to D-wing. The dude leaned against the wall, stretched his legs out, and raised his eyes. They flitted around until meeting Dean’s, and wow, Dean hadn’t noticed how _blue_ they were yesterday. Dean waved at him, and he waved back then pulled out a book and a bag of rabbit food. Dean observed him for a few minutes before concluding that no one was meeting him.

Dean poked Charlie, who scowled at him. “Hey,” Dean said. “Does Cas always eat lunch alone?”

Charlie gave him a blank look. “Cas? Who’s Cas?”

“Castiel Novak.” Dean pointed at him. “That guy.” Charlie laughed. “What?”

“I’ve never heard anyone call him that before. Where’d you get the idea?”

Dean reddened. “Nowhere,” he muttered.

Charlie shrugged. “Whatever. But yeah, I’ve never seen him eat lunch with anyone else. Guy’s kind of a loner. Doesn’t like people.”

“Seems a little stuck-up,” Benny inserted.

“Anna says he’s really nice, actually,” Hannah put in. She was good friends with Anna Milton, who was on the fencing team. With Cas, Dean realized. But Anna ate lunch with another group of people, a large group that somewhat intimidated the quiet Hannah. “She thinks he’s probably just got social anxiety or something.”

“Sounds about right,” Garth agreed.

“I saw you wave at him, Dean,” Jo said. “He waved back.”

“So?” Dean replied. That’s what people did when someone waved at them.

“I dunno. I’ve just always heard he ignores anyone who tries to talk to him. Bela said he hardly talked to her when they were working on their history project last year.”

“But Bela’s a bitch.”

“True.”

“I mean, _I_ wouldn’t talk to her if we were doing a project together.”

“I had a conversation with him once,” Andy claimed.

“No. You were high, remember?” Charlie countered.

“Oh, yeah!”

“How do you know he was high?” Dean asked.

Charlie rolled her eyes, and Benny explained, “’Cause he said that Castiel described his pet unicorn. He was serious, too.”

“He did!”

Everyone looked at him skeptically. Andy was high pretty much all the time; he was probably high right now. His pupils were dilated enough. Even though a lot of people bought drugs from him, they didn’t want to hang out with the guy. So, like the other students sitting with Dean, Andy had found a place with people who didn’t fit in elsewhere.

And Dean was hatching a plan.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel didn’t know why Dean waved at him, but he returned the gesture before opening his backpack and taking out _The Double Helix_ and a bag of carrots. He idly nibbled on the carrots as he read the story of how Watson and Crick had discovered the components of DNA. Next, he planned to read _Rosalind Franklin and DNA_ by Ann Sayre. Apparently, Franklin’s contribution to the project had not been recognized initially, and Castiel was curious.

But he couldn’t concentrate. He peered over the top of his book at Dean and his friends. During first hour, he’d heard a couple of drama kids talking about the new year, and they’d mentioned Dean as if he participated in productions. Why wasn’t he sitting with the other drama kids? Well, Charlie Bradbury was also a drama kid, but that was understandable; she had a reputation for eccentricity.

For that matter, why wasn’t Dean eating lunch with Lilith, Nick, and their goons? He certainly had the looks to fit in with them.

But this group didn’t seem to have a unifying thread. Charlie was a huge nerd who didn’t hide her lesbianism, which Castiel admired. Father thought her morally degenerate, of course. Jo Harvelle, whose mother owned a bar called the Roadhouse, came from a rough-and-tumble neighborhood. Benny Lafitte had transferred here from Louisiana during his sophomore year, and he still had a thick accent. All Castiel knew about Garth Fitzgerald was that Lilith and her friends had pranked him. Hannah Goodwin spent time with Anna but otherwise seemed like a wallflower. And Andy Gallagher was a notorious stoner.

Lunch ended too soon, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully. Until sixth hour, AP English, where he noticed Dean sitting at a desk on the other side of the room. In fencing yesterday, he hadn’t realized that Dean was in his English class, too.

The next day, he put the matter out of his mind. He would be spending the weekend with Gabriel, and it would be a much-needed respite from Father. At lunch, he plopped down in his usual spot. Dean, whose back was to him, turned around and waved. Why was Dean acknowledging him again? He raised his hand to wave back, but then Dean motioned toward himself and his friends. Surely Castiel was hallucinating. But he continued to do it, so Castiel picked up his backpack and shuffled toward the group. He stopped next to Dean and muttered, “Yes?”

“Wanna eat lunch with us?”

Castiel couldn’t help but stare. “You can’t be serious,” he said flatly. No one _wanted_ to eat with him.

“Um. Yeah.” A blush spread over Dean’s neck, and he rubbed the back of it self-consciously. With a hurried breath, he added, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can, but no pressure, only—” The others gave Dean bemused looks.

“I accept,” Castiel said.

“Uh. Awesome. Make some room, guys.” Everyone scooted over a little bit until a space between Dean and Jo was cleared out. Castiel occupied the vacant spot and folded his legs over themselves, sitting cross-legged. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” Dean jabbed a thumb to his left, at Charlie. “This is—”

“I know who everyone is.”

“Oh. Well, then. Everyone, this is Cas.” Castiel frowned. That was not his name. “’Tiel? Sorry, you don’t want me to call you that? Castiel. Guys, this is Castiel.”

 _Oh_. “Cas” was a shortened version of his name. “You may call me Cas if you wish.”

Dean snorted, and Castiel did not understand his amusement. “Yeah, okay.” He paused then said, “We were just talkin’ ’bout our plans for the weekend. Ideas, anyone?”

“I hear Lilith is having a back-to-school shindig,” Andy announced.

“ _Dude_.” Dean flicked his eyes toward Garth then back at Andy.

Andy shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

“Yeah. How ’bout y’all come over to my place tomorrow? Play some _Crash Bandicoot_ and _Risk._ ”

“God, you’re such a dork,” Charlie replied.

“Look who’s talkin’.” He surveyed the group. “Who’s in?”

“You know me.”

“I’m game,” said Jo.

“I’m in, brotha,” Benny said.

“Nah. I’m goin’ to the party,” Andy said.

Garth looked white as a sheet, and Castiel pitied him. Even he, socially clueless as he was, knew that Andy was being insensitive. “I dunno. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.”

“I’ll probably be doing something with Anna,” Hannah said.

An awkward silence followed. Eventually, Dean turned to Castiel and prompted, “Well, Cas?”

“Well, what?” Was he supposed to provide the next conversational topic?

“Are you in?”

“In for what?”

“You comin’ over tomorrow?”

“Am I . . . oh.” Castiel gaped at him. This had to be a trick of some sort. “I’m invited?”

“’Course you are. So, you comin’ or what?”

Castiel shook his head emphatically. If this was a serious invitation, he was flattered. But he would probably annoy everyone by the end of the day if he went. Besides, there was Gabriel. “No. I—I’m visiting my brother, and I hardly ever get to s-s-see him, so no, I won’t be going.”

Dean briefly clapped him on the shoulder, which evoked a strange sense of warmth. “’S all right. But you’re comin’ next time. Capisce?”

“I capisce.”

The bell rang, and students scurried like ants. AP European History and AP Calculus BC went by without incident. But when he took his seat in AP English, Dean started signaling for him to come over. Well, if he was serious, it was preferable to sitting alone. Castiel hefted his backpack and grabbed a seat next to Dean. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Dean smiled at him, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re in my seat,” someone hissed. Castiel raised his eyes to meet the furious green ones of Lilith’s best friend.

“Piss off, Bela,” Dean bit out.

“Not until this asshole gets out of my seat.”

“I don’t see your name on it.”

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, placing a placating hand on his arm. “It’s all right. I’ll move.”

“At least he has a brain,” Bela snipped.

Castiel stood up, and Dean pushed him back down. “You’re not movin’, Cas.” Dean turned to Bela. “I’m sick of you people thinkin’ you can boss everyone around. Sit. Somewhere. Else.” He glanced around for dramatic effect. “I see plenty of open seats.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bela huffed. She occupied a desk on the other side of the room and glared at Dean all period.

Castiel was stupefied. Why did Dean want to spend time with him?

xxxxxxxxxx

After lunch on Saturday, Father dropped Castiel off at Gabriel’s apartment. Gabriel answered the door clad in only _Scooby-Doo_ boxers, and goodness, Castiel did _not_ need to see that much of Gabriel’s skin. As soon as Castiel entered the apartment, Gabriel disappeared into his bedroom. Castiel wrinkled his nose at the stale smell and perched on the couch. He surveyed the horrendous state of the living room, the clothes piled all over the floor and furniture, the empty pizza box on the coffee table, the dirty plates littering the table and couch, the overflowing stack of mail near the front door. He twitched with the urge to clean.

He jumped when an Indian woman suddenly rushed past him in a blur. She gave him a startled look before throwing open the front door and dashing out of the apartment. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, Gabriel returned to the living room and ruffled his hair. “Hey, squirt.”

Castiel scowled. “I am taller than you.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me, baby bro.”

Gabriel and Michael were polar opposites in every way, but they did have one thing in common: their tendency to address Castiel by referencing the vast age difference between them. He had been born seven years after Gabriel. Mother used to say that Castiel was a “happy accident.” He remembered her intoning the words as she tucked him in and kissed his temple with a whispered “I love you.”

Thinking of Mother made him morose. If she had truly cared for him, how could she have run off just like that, leaving him behind? Had she been lying to him all along? Why did he sometimes long for her, as he did now, when she obviously must not have loved him?

Castiel bit his lower lip to prevent himself from crying. “Do you ever miss Mother?”

Gabriel pushed some of the dishes to the other side of the couch and sat down beside Castiel. “All the time, kiddo.”

“Do you ever hate her?”

Warm brown eyes settled on him. “All the time.”

Mother’s departure must have been worse for Gabriel and Michael. Since they were older, they had become more accustomed to the idea of her always being there.

Sometimes Castiel wondered whether he had caused Mother to leave. She had left a note explaining why she could no longer live with Father, but perhaps she had left out some things.

Gabriel patted him on the arm. “Don’t dwell on it, squirt.”

“Hmm.” Castiel tried to put Mother out of his mind. He remembered the woman he’d seen earlier. “Who is your latest one-night stand?”

“She’s not just a one-night stand.”

“No? What is she, a two-night stand?”

“No,” Gabriel snapped, irked.

“What? Are you actually _serious_ about this one?”

Gabriel blushed. “Shuddup.”

Castiel stared at him. He’d never thought he’d see the day when Gabriel actually developed _feelings_ for someone. He leaned back against the armrest and drew his knees up to his chin. “You are.”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand at him. “Yeah, yeah.” Gabriel lowered his voice so that Castiel could barely hear him. “Her name is Kali.”

“Like the goddess?”

“She’s a goddess all right,” Gabriel leered.

Unbidden, an image of Gabriel and Kali making love entered his head. Gross. He did _not_ want to think about that. He cleared his mind and teased, “Gabriel and Kali sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage—”

“What are you, five?”

“Then comes baby in a baby carriage!” Castiel laughed.

“Nice. Real mature.”

Castiel remembered yesterday’s events and grew serious. He still wasn’t sure why Dean had invited him to sit with his group at lunch yesterday, why he had wanted to sit next to him in English, or why he had invited Castiel to his house. It must have been some sort of elaborate ruse. For what, he didn’t know, but that was the only explanation he could think of.

But oh, he wanted it to be real so badly. Maybe he could ask Gabriel. He was more socially savvy than Castiel. “Gabriel, how do you know if someone is setting you up for a prank?”

“Why, did someone do something to you?”

“No.” Castiel frowned. “It’s just that something happened, and I don’t understand it.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, something novel in your life, eh? Hell must’ve frozen over.” He waited several minutes, but when Castiel said nothing, he prodded, “Spill the beans, squirt!”

“There’s this guy at school. Dean. He insisted I eat lunch with him and his friends.”

“Someone wants to spend time with you? Hell really _has_ frozen over!” Castiel glowered at him. Gabriel held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I don’t see what you’re getting at. What’s the problem?”

“The _problem_ is that I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. Why would anyone _want_ to be friends with me?”

“Excellent point.”

“I’m serious, Gabriel. For my entire life, no one, and I mean _no one_ , has desired my friendship.”

“Maybe this Dean’s got a screw loose in his head.”

“Gabriel.”

“Okay. Yeesh.” In a surprisingly somber tone, Gabriel asked, “How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know no one has ever wanted to be your friend?”

“They just . . . haven’t!”

Gabriel tapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it, baby bro. I’d take him at his word. Now.” Gabriel exclaimed the next words with exaggerated wonder, as if speaking to a gaggle of toddlers. “How about we go get some ice cream!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I am not a small child.”

“Fine. I’ll go by myself.” He proceeded to the front door and turned the knob.

Castiel scrambled after him. “Wait for me!”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Mom forced Dean to let Sam join him and his friends for game night. Sam asked Kevin over so he could have an ally. Dean complained (it would’ve been weird _not_ to), but secretly, he was relieved. Ruby had invited Sam to Lilith’s party, and Sam had no business being in that sort of environment. Drugs, alcohol, and sex—he was going to keep Sam from such corrupting influences, thank you very much.

Kevin arrived first, followed by Charlie, then Benny, then Jo, and finally Garth. Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief. Ever since Andy had brought up Lilith’s party yesterday, Dean had been worried about Garth. Hopefully he would have enough fun to keep Lilith out of his mind.

Charlie wanted to play _Risk_ , but they were a group of seven, and _Risk_ allowed for only six players. Garth offered to sit out, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it. They teamed up, and everyone whined that they had an unfair advantage until they were the first ones to be knocked out of the game. Jo and Benny were next. Charlie put up a fierce fight, but the young ’uns eventually defeated her as well. Everyone watched Sam and Kevin duke it out until Kevin secured victory.

“Nerds,” Dean griped.

“I can’t believe we just got schooled by a couple of freshmen,” Charlie said.

“You’re just jealous that we’re smarter than you,” Sam replied.

“Yeah,” Kevin concurred.

“Watch it, Sammy.” Sam flushed, and Dean smirked. Sam hated when Dean called him “Sammy,” especially in front of other people. Usually, Dean played nice and reserved the nickname for private occasions. Usually.

They played _Monopoly_ next. Dean got to be the racecar, of course. Jo took the top hat, Charlie the ship, Benny the iron, Garth the shoe, Sam the dog, and Kevin the wheelbarrow. Dean went bankrupt first, and damn, he was a sucky capitalist. It was taking forever for someone else to go bankrupt, and Dean was getting freakin’ _bored_. He wanted someone else to get kicked out of the game so they could get on the PlayStation together. He could play it by himself, but he’d promised to wait until someone else was available. He noticed everyone’s smirks. They _enjoyed_ watching him squirm. Sadists.

Mom came into the living room with three two-liter bottles of Coke and set them down on the coffee table. What was she doing in here? She’d said she would keep out of sight. It was embarrassing enough that he had his little brother with him.

“Mom!” Dean hissed.

Mom placed her hands on her hips. “What, you don’t want pizza?”

Pizza sounded fuckin’ _awesome_. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Yeah, so sue him, he was a douche sometimes.

Next, she brought in cups and plates. Then she carried in three pizzas: one pepperoni, one cheese, and one veggie. Garth, Sam, and Kevin devoured the veggie pizza together; they were _so_ freakin’ health conscious, the weirdoes. As Dean had predicted, there wasn’t enough pepperoni for everyone else.

“Oh, dear,” Mom uttered when she returned to the living room after a while. Benny, Jo, Charlie, and Dean were staring each other down, all four of them determined to snag the last piece of pepperoni. “Perhaps I should’ve ordered two of those.”

“It’s mine,” Dean declared to his friends, “because this is _my_ house.”

Mom snorted. “First of all, Dean, honey—” God, did she _have_ to call him “honey” in front of his peers? “—this isn’t _your_ house. It belongs to me and your father. Second of all, your friends are our guests, which means you should be courteous and let one of them have the last piece.”

“Yeah, Dean,” said Jo.

“You’re out.”

“What?”

“You don’t get the last piece, either.”

“Why not?” Jo whined.

Mom smiled to herself. “I’ll tell you once we have a winner.”

“How do you win?” Charlie asked.

“And you’re out. Benny, it’s yours.”

Benny grinned and shoveled the piece into his mouth. God, his manners were worse than Dean’s. Everyone else exchanged puzzled looks until Charlie said, “Oh, I get it, Mrs. Winchester. The one who doesn’t talk wins.”

Mom’s eyes sparkled. “Yes.”

“Sneaky.”

“It wasn’t fair!” Jo sulked. “We didn’t even know the rules!”

“It was devious. I like it.” She elbowed Dean.

“Ow!” Dean responded.

“You should try another one of your tricks when your son is being an ogre.”

“Oh, is he often an ogre?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, Sammy, stop being an ogre,” Dean said.

“She doesn’t mean me!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah, the little pipsqueak is an angel,” Charlie replied. She pinched Sam’s cheeks. “Isn’t he so cute? Why, wook at his cute wittle face.”

Sam slapped her hand away. “Stop it.”

“That’s enough teasing of my boys,” Mom said. “Though Lord knows I love teasing them myself.” Dean groaned, wondering what Mom might do to embarrass him now. Sam looked just as petrified. But all Mom uttered was, “Now, who’s ready for some dessert?” Everyone donned their most eager faces. She left the room and came back with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and an apple pie, already sliced. “Enjoy,” she told them before exiting the room.

“Dude, your mom is _awesome_ ,” Garth stated.

“Amen, brotha,” Benny agreed.

Actually, it was slightly mortifying to have her around when his friends were over. That was natural; parents just weren’t cool.

But his friends didn’t seem to mind that she treated the group as if they were still in middle school. He was relieved. And yeah, he’d definitely say his mom was the best in the world.

After all, she’d made his favorite pie.

After they finished eating, the game of _Monopoly_ resumed. Sam was the next one to go bankrupt, which shocked Dean. Perhaps there had been an anti-Winchester conspiracy. Eventually, Charlie and Kevin were the only ones left playing. Everyone else took turns with the PlayStation. When the game was over, everyone could identify the winner right away.

“Suck it, bitches!” Charlie howled.

Maybe his friends weren’t the hippest bunch, but Dean loved them. He’d rather be hanging out with them doing geeky things than at some popular kid’s party any day.

He found himself wishing a certain blue-eyed boy was here. He bet Cas would be amusing. It wouldn’t surprise him if the dude had never seen a PlayStation in his life. Dean wanted to show Cas everything he’d been missing out on.

He couldn't forget how _stunned_ Cas had looked when he'd invited him over. His heart couldn't help but ache a little at that. Poor guy.

A life without friends must be lonely. He wanted to tear Cas out of that hell.

And give him a sense of belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm not very good at writing Gabriel. For some reason, I don't much like the idea of having people call Castiel "Cassie" (though I don't mind reading it in other fics), so I didn't want Gabriel to give Cas that nickname. Dean was the first one to call him Cas, so that was out. But I couldn't imagine Gabriel using Cas's full name, so I had him use generic teasing names like "squirt." 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts! Kudos, comments, etc., are much appreciated! :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr under the same name.


	3. Educating Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll next update this; real life is starting to get busier. Meanwhile, here's a long chapter. I doubt any other chapter will be as long as this one. I provide news about updates on my tumblr, where I'm also under angelofthemoor.
> 
> Warning for some brief depictions of child abuse.

Castiel now had someone he could sit next to in all of his classes. It felt so surreal that he would occasionally bang his head on his bedroom wall in an attempt to wake himself up. Which was stupid and painful. Why question a good thing?

Then Castiel would remember what he’d heard about Lilith and Garth and prom, and it was as if he’d bathed in a vat of ice cold fear. What if these people were setting him up for something similar? How else did one explain them talking to him?

But they seemed so nice. Garth had been a target, so it stood to reason that he wouldn’t scheme to dupe Castiel. But in that case, what was their angle?

He shared AP Psychology with Jo, AP Biology with Hannah, Honors Philosophy with Benny, AP European History with Charlie and Hannah, and AP Calculus BC with Charlie. And of course, he saw Dean during sixth and seventh hour.

By Wednesday, he’d grown tentatively comfortable with the new state of things. In Mr. Turner’s class, he realized he felt happy for the first time in a while.

The bell rang, interrupting Mr. Turner’s spirited lecture. “You heard Pavlov.” Mr. Turner waved dismissive hands at the door. “Now shoo.” Castiel giggled to himself.

“Who’s Pavlov?” he heard Gordon ask behind him. He cast a sidelong glance at Hannah and noticed she was suppressing a smile. They gathered their books and headed toward the auditorium.

“Why don’t you ever laugh at Mr. Turner’s jokes?” Castiel asked. “I know you understand them.”

A blush dusted Hannah’s cheeks. “I don’t want to be the only one,” she admitted quietly.

“But you wouldn’t be.”

“I know. But—everyone makes fun of you for it.” She cringed. “I’m sorry. I just . . . ”

“You’re merely telling the truth. I know.” Castiel was well-aware that most of the other students thought he was strange for laughing at Mr. Turner’s remarks, but he didn’t care. No one had ever liked him before, so it hardly mattered.

Castiel jumped when someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Heya, Cas,” Dean called from behind him. “Hannah.”

“Hey, Dean,” Hannah echoed.

Dean continued to grip Castiel’s shoulder as if they were two macho men who played on the same football team. “Hey, Cas. Answer me this. Why do clubs meet during school hours?”

Every Wednesday, club meetings took place between second and third hour, in three rotations. For each rotation, students could choose a club to attend. For example, Castiel went to National Honor Society during first rotation, Science Club during second rotation, and the FCA during third rotation. (The last only because his father sponsored the organization. He would definitely prefer belonging to a club that did not feature Bela as its president.)

“I think the original idea was to give students a chance to get involved in extracurricular activities,” Castiel answered. “In the event that they had other commitments after school.”

“Yeah, but the clubs do shit outside of school hours anyway.”

“Indeed.”

“Not that I’m complainin’. Anythin’ to get outta class is fine by me.”

They arrived at the auditorium, where the National Honor Society was gathering today, and Dean followed Castiel and Hannah inside. Castiel gave Dean a bewildered look.

“What?” Dean muttered as he plopped into a chair next to Castiel and propped his boots up on top of the seat in front of him. Castiel winced at his boorish demeanor. “I can’t belong to this thing? I may’ve got in by the skin of my teeth, but I’m still in.” Castiel studied Dean. Yes, he was surprised. Dean may have been in AP English, but he’d struck Castiel as not terribly bright. It was in the way he dressed, in how he comported himself. The same reason Castiel had initially seen him as a jock type.

Dean continued to defy Castiel’s expectations. In his sixteen years on this earth, he had observed many individuals. He had amassed a great deal of knowledge about human nature, but so far, Dean was flouting Castiel’s attempts to pinpoint him.

“I’m not a dumbass,” Dean murmured so only Castiel could hear.

“Okay.” Dean glared at him, a challenge in his eyes. He was on the verge of saying something when someone sank into the chair on Dean’s right.

“Hey, brotha,” Benny said

Dean inclined his head at him. “Benny.” They bumped their fists together.

Charlie and Jo arrived and took seats to Hannah’s left. Chatter clogged the auditorium. It was so loud that Castiel felt a little overwhelmed. On the stage, Anna picked up a microphone and began, “It is my pleasure to welcome you to a new year.” No one seemed to have heard her besides Castiel. She cleared her throat and yelled, “Hey! Silence!” A hush abruptly fell in the auditorium. She grinned. “That’s better. Now, as president, it is my duty to remind you of the requirements. Remember that you must complete at least eight hours of community service per semester.” Groans erupted from the audience. “Oh, come on. It’s not _that_ bad.”

“And you’re helping your community,” Lilith chimed in from the left side of the stage. She was the club’s vice president, and Castiel didn’t understand how Anna could work with her. Anna was generally well-liked, but didn’t belong to Lilith’s clan. She was kind-hearted, too, unlike Lilith, who simpered sweetly on stage and pretended like she gave a damn about the community when she couldn’t care less.

“Yes,” Anna echoed. “The first volunteer opportunity is next week. The school needs people to help parents find their way around during Back to School Night next Tuesday. If you help out, you’ll earn two service hours. Does anyone want to volunteer? Raise your hand.”

Castiel’s hand shot up, and Dean hissed, “What’re you doing?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “Volunteering.” He wanted to ensure he acquired a sufficient number of volunteer hours. Often, scheduled activities occurred on weekends, and once fencing tournaments started, Castiel would not have many chances to volunteer.

Dean raised his hand, and Castiel tilted his head, squinting at him. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Dean huffed.

“Okay, I’ve got you down, Castiel,” Anna announced. She eyed Dean. “What’s your name?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“All right, Dean.” She examined the crowd and began to recite names that startled Castiel. “Who else? Hannah. Charlie. Who are you?”

“Jo Harvelle.”

“Okay, Jo, you’re on the list. And what’s your name?”

“Benny Lafitte.”

“And Benny. Plus me.”

“Put me down, too,” Lilith called.

“Shit,” Dean muttered. Castiel quite agreed.

“Right. Okay. Anyone else?” Anna inquired. Silence greeted her. “All right then. You can sign up through Tuesday afternoon. Just get in touch with me if you’d like to help out.”

Anna ended by reminding everyone who the officers were. Herself and Lilith, of course. Nick O’Fallon, one of Lilith’s cronies, was treasurer, and Rachel Grey was secretary.

Castiel couldn’t fathom why Dean and his friends would wish to volunteer with him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel received another surprise during the last ten minutes of Mr. Shurley’s class on Friday. Most of the other students were staring at the clock, hoping they could somehow shove the minute hand to the twelve by sheer force of will. He and Dean still had P.E., however.

Mr. Shurley handed a stack of papers to a student in the front row and instructed her to pass them around. “Okay, class,” he declared. “This is your first major project for the semester.” Collective groans answered him. “C’mon. This’ll be fun!” Everyone gave him disbelieving looks except Dean, who had a goofy expression on his face. “The instructions are going around. The assignment’s due two weeks from this coming Monday. Basically, you’ll find a partner, and you two will choose an American author from the list. You’ll do research on their life and what literary critics generally say about their work. You’ll also choose one of their works to read and analyze critically. Be sure to explain whether or not you agree with the critics and provide evidence from the text. You’ll write a paper together that should be a minimum of four pages.” Several students sighed. “You and your partner will also present your findings to the class. The handout has more details.” Castiel received the stack of handouts, took one, and passed it to Dean. “I’ll give you a minute to find your partners and decide which author you want. No two pairs will get the same author; I want you to learn from each other’s presentations.”

Dean elbowed Castiel. “Hey. Wanna be partners?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. So this was his gambit. He’d heard of Castiel’s academic success, and he thought that he could use him. He probably wanted Castiel to do the project for both of them. “I’m not doing all the work,” Castiel said sharply.

Dean appeared taken aback. After a minute, he rasped, “Good.”

That had not been the response Castiel was expecting. But what did he have to lose? He needed a partner, and almost everyone else would undoubtedly force Castiel to work alone. Dean, on the other hand, was an unknown variable. He might be lying right now, but he could be telling the truth. Castiel didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

“Okay,” Castiel replied. “I shall be your partner.”

“Awesome.” He paused then added, “I ain’t doin’ all the work, either.”

Castiel detected an attempt at humor, so he smiled and repeated Dean’s answer. “Good.” Dean grinned back.

They scanned the list, and Dean squealed in delight. His eyes gleamed feverishly as he said, “We’re doin’ Kurt Vonnegut.”

“Okay.” Castiel had no preference, so Vonnegut was fine with him. Was Dean some kind of literature nerd? He seemed to actually be looking forward to the project.

Dean raised his hand and waited for Mr. Shurley to call on him. When Mr. Shurley acknowledged Bela, she said, “Nick and I are partners.”

Mr. Shurley wrote that down then asked, “Who do you want?”

“Kurt Vonnegut.”

“Dammit!” Dean fumed. He scowled at Bela and Nick. “Those asshats don’t deserve Vonnegut!”

“I suppose we must pick someone else,” Castiel said.

“See anyone you want?”

“Do you?”

He and Dean vacillated, and before Castiel knew it, Mr. Shurley was calling on them. “Dean, Castiel. You’re the only ones left. That makes you partners.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

“Two options are left. Cotton Mather and Walt Whitman. Which one do you want?”

“Cotton Mather,” Castiel answered. At the same time, Dean said, “Walt Whitman.” A few classmates snickered. Castiel glanced at Dean then said, “Walt Whitman.”

“Walt Whitman it is.” The bell rang, and students leapt out of their chairs. “Have a good weekend! Don’t get in too much trouble. Take it easy on the alcohol.”

Castiel snorted. “Is he encouraging us to drink?”

“Only a little,” Dean replied with a laugh. They grabbed their stuff and headed out of the classroom. As they walked, Dean said, “Hey. So my brother’s spendin’ the night with his friend, and his bag’s in my car. I’ve gotta meet him so he can get it. Wanna come?” He flashed a warm smile. “You can see my baby.”

What kind of person called their car “baby”? In Castiel’s experience, only jerks. He didn’t understand Dean. One minute, he seemed like a dork, and the next, he seemed like a stereotypical douche. Still, Castiel found himself saying, “Okay.”

“Cool.”

They stopped by a black car located toward the back of the parking lot. A boy with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes stood waiting. He looked up at Dean and said, “ _Finally_. Took you long enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean gibed. “Whine some more, will ya?” The boy turned to Castiel with curiosity in his eyes, and Dean said, “This is Cas. Castiel Novak.”

“Oh. So you’re Castiel Novak.”

Castiel blinked. “Yes.” He was surprised that the boy had heard of him.

“This little shit—” Dean mussed the boy’s hair, and the boy glared at him. “—is my brother. Sam.” Through the seemingly insulting words, Castiel heard unmistakable affection.

“It’s good to meet you, Sam.”

Dean rested his hand on Sam’s head, and Sam shoved at it. “Get off me.”

“And this—” Dean ran fingers along the top of the car. “—is my baby. Do you know what she is?” Castiel shook his head. “A ’67 Chevy Impala. Is she badass or what?”

Castiel had to admit that the vehicle was impressive. “Yes.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll talk your ears off about it all day.” He turned to Dean. “You gonna let me in already?”

“Hold your horses. We’re gettin’ there.” Dean unlocked the car, and Sam crawled into the backseat. He pulled out a tan duffel bag and muttered, “Thanks.” Sam then headed back toward the school, where Castiel presumed that he would meet his friend.

“What, no good-bye kiss?” Dean yelled. Without turning around, Sam flipped his middle finger.

Castiel checked his watch. “I believe we are late for P.E.,” he fretted.

“Don’t worry ‘’bout it. One tardy isn’t gonna hurt.”

But it was a tardy during the second week of school. It wasn’t a promising start to the semester.

Castiel contemplated Dean as they walked toward the fencing room. He still couldn’t decipher him or his intentions. If only he could make Dean be perfectly frank with him.

He had an idea.

When they entered the fencing room, Ms. Mills called, “Nice of you to show up.”

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Castiel offered.

He and Dean suited up, and then he approached Ms. Mills, who was correcting a boy’s posture. “Ms. Mills?”

She turned around. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if I could practice with Dean.” She gazed at him blankly. “It would be helpful to have an opponent.”

She frowned. “Dean is a beginner, and they’re working with the foil right now. Your weapon is the sabre.”

“Yes. But I still think it would be useful.”

“Well, it’s certainly an unusual request, but all right.”

Castiel grabbed two foils from the classroom stock and found Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows when Castiel grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the far side of the room.

“What’re we doin’?” Dean asked when they reached the other side.

Castiel handed Dean one of the foils and glanced at Ms. Mills. She wasn’t paying much attention to them. Perfect. “We need to have a talk,” Castiel stated.

Confusion settled on Dean’s features. “Um. Okay.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you asked me to?”

“No. I mean, why do you socialize with me?”

“Huh?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “What is your motivation?” Because surely there must be an ulterior motive, and his friends were merely following his lead.

“What’s my motivation?” Dean repeated with disbelief. “Nothing, unless you count gettin’ to know ya better.”

Why would anyone want that? Castiel wasn’t stupid; he wouldn’t fall for Dean’s lies. “Be honest with me, Dean,” he warned. “What’s your agenda really?”

Dean snorted. “I’m not the freakin’ CIA, dude. I don’t have some secret agenda.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why do you talk to me?”

Castiel was irked by Dean’s look of pity. He didn’t need anyone’s _pity_ , thank you very much. “Maybe I just like you.”

“No one just likes me.”

“I do.” Castiel gave him a skeptical look. “Okay, so you’re weird and sometimes a little rude—” Castiel scowled. “—maybe not on purpose, but whatever. And—and—I dunno. You’re interesting.”

Castiel considered Dean’s words and nodded. “Okay.” He eyed the ground. “I’m sorry if I was being rude. I just didn’t understand what I was supposed to think. I didn’t know if it was a joke.”

“I understand,” Dean said softly. “Sometimes people are douchebags. But I’m not. Well, not as much as some people. I like to think so, anyway.”

Castiel looked up at Dean and smiled. “You’re not,” he said.

“Neither are you.” Castiel found himself inexplicably touched by this exchange.

“Castiel! Dean!” Ms. Mills shouted. Castiel flinched. “This is not Intro to Socializing!” The other students giggled.

Dean flicked his eyes to Castiel. “Why don’t you come home with me? We can finish this talk. Or maybe we can just hang out.”

An unexpected flame of warmth flared up in his heart. He pondered the proposal and replied, “I don’t know. I’m supposed to go home with Father.”

Dean snorted. “‘Father’? What is this, Victorian England?” Castiel’s expression remained serious, and Dean sighed. “Why don’t you just tell him where you’re goin’?”

Castiel considered the idea and nodded. “Okay.”

“ _Castiel_! _Dean_! Don’t make me come over there!” Ms. Mills yelled.

“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel called. He lowered his visor, and Dean did the same. They assumed their stances and began. In ten seconds flat, Castiel scored a touch against Dean. Ten seconds later, he did so again. “You’re horrible,” Castiel pointed out.

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Second-in-the-State. It’s not like I’m just a beginner or anything.”

“You’re bad even for a beginner.”

“Fuck you.” For a second, Castiel was angry. He tried to formulate a retort when he remembered how Dean had spoken to his brother. This did not differ from that, and he hadn’t sounded venomous just now.

“En garde,” Castiel urged. He resumed his stance.

Class let out ten minutes early. After they put away their gear, he and Dean headed toward Father’s classroom. Castiel opened the door a sliver and tentatively slipped inside. “Father?” he ventured.

Father swiveled in his chair to face Castiel. “Yes?” He assumed a menacing expression, and Castiel wanted to scurry away.

He indicated Dean behind him. “This is Dean Winchester. May I go home with him?”

He took a while to answer. Finally, he said, “Yes, Castiel. That will be fine. Be home by eleven.”

“Thank you, Father.”

When they were out of Father’s earshot, Dean commented, “Seriously? Eleven? That’s your curfew on a Friday night?”

Castiel shrugged. “It never mattered before. I had nowhere to go.”

As he unlocked the car, Dean said, “Now you’ll get to see baby’s interior. Which is just as awesome as the outside.”

Castiel slid inside and admired the black leather seats. His lips curled into a smile. “Yes.” Now that Castiel had decided to take Dean at his word, his attitude toward him had changed. Dean’s enthusiasm for his vehicle was rather endearing. It was different than that expressed by many others, he noticed, if he studied Dean closely. It seemed as if Dean viewed the car as he would a family member.

When they pulled into the Winchesters’ driveway, Castiel realized, “You live only two blocks away from me.”

Dean grinned. “Really? Awesome.”

They exited the Impala and traipsed toward the front door of a white clapboard house, small but cute. Dean unlocked the door, and Castiel followed him inside. They stepped into a kitchen with a white-tiled floor and wooden cabinets. Through the doorway on the far side of the room, he could see the living room. It appeared rather homey, with taupe carpet and a comfortable-looking blue sofa from which a brown-haired man arose and lurched in their direction.

Dean sounded startled as he called, “Dad?” He strode into the living room and stopped in front of his father. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“How dare you talk to your old man like that, you disgraceful piece of shit.” Castiel jumped at the venom in Mr. Winchester’s voice. “You—” He pointed an accusatory finger at Dean, his legs wobbling underneath him. “—did not take the trash out this morning.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

“‘Sorry. I forgot,’” Mr. Winchester mocked in a falsetto voice. “Sorry don’t cut it, Dean-o.” He wrapped a hand around Dean’s neck and slammed him against a wall. “You think you can get away with that shit?”

“Daddy, please,” Dean wheezed. “I can’t breathe.” He sounded so broken that Castiel couldn’t suppress a sniffle. He needed to get that brute of a man off of Dean, he decided.

“If you can talk, you can breathe,” Mr. Winchester snapped. With his free hand, he formed a fist, drew it back, and hit Dean in the mouth. Blood dribbled from his bottom lip. Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s as he entered the living room, and he looked ashamed, of all things. Why? This wasn’t his fault.

“Let him go,” Castiel demanded with more bravado than he felt.

Mr. Winchester turned to face him. Fury sparked in his glazed brown eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Let. Him. Go,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

With Mr. Winchester distracted by Castiel, Dean was able to shove him away. He snatched at Castiel’s wrist and murmured, “C’mon.”

They fled, Mr. Winchester on their heels. He tripped and fell in the kitchen, and they continued to the Impala. Dean sped out of the driveway. He did not know where Dean was going, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he attempted to process what had just occurred. After ten minutes, Dean pulled into the parking lot of Pontiac Nature Park, located on the edge of town, and claimed a space. The park contained many walking and biking trails winding through clusters of trees; it had been designated as an urban wilderness area.

When Dean switched off the ignition, Castiel inquired, “Is he always like that?”

Dean swept his hands through his hair. “Only when Mom’s out of town.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry ’bout him. He was supposed to be at work.”

Why was Dean apologizing? The incident hadn’t been his fault. “Your mother doesn’t know?” he guessed. Dean shook his head. “Your father’s behavior is dangerous, Dean.” He gestured at the bruises blossoming on Dean’s neck. “You could’ve died.” Father could become violent when he was angry, but he had never tried to choke Castiel. He had seen the drunkenness in Mr. Winchester’s eyes, and that made him all the more hazardous. It seemed that drink caused him to lose all restraint.

“Nah.”

“This is serious, Dean. Perhaps you should tell your mother.”

Dean’s eyes flashed at him. “ _No_. I can handle it.” He gave Castiel a warning look. “And don’t _you_ go telling anyone. Everything’s fine.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, and Dean’s expression hardened. Against his better judgment, Castiel nodded. “Okay. Where will you sleep tonight? You can’t go back there.”

“’Course not,” Dean mumbled. “Right here’s just fine.”

“You’re going to sleep _here_?!”

“Yep. It’s where I bring me and Sammy when Dad gets out of control.”

Dean and his brother spent nights here in this parking lot?! “You shouldn’t sleep here, Dean.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel continued, “How about you spend the night with me?”

“At your house? Your dad’ll be all right with that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Castiel grabbed some napkins lying on the bench seat and held them up to Dean’s lip. “Here. It’s still bleeding.”

“It’s bleeding? Holy shit.”

Castiel wiped the blood from Dean’s chin and pressed the napkin against Dean’s lip again. “Hold it there. The pressure should stop the bleeding.”

Dean reached up to take hold of the napkins, his fingers brushing Castiel’s as he did so. When Dean had a firm grip on the napkins, Castiel removed his hand.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said softly.

“You are welcome.”

Once Dean’s lip stopped bleeding, they headed toward Castiel’s house. Father’s Mercedes was in the driveway. Castiel unlocked the front door, and they entered the living room. Father looked up from his news program. “I thought you were going to his house.”

“We changed our minds,” Castiel replied. “Dean is spending the night here.” Father’s face reddened. “Dean, why don’t you set up the air mattress? It’s in the spare closet across from my bedroom, which is the first door on the right.”

“Okay.” Dean left the room.

Father pinched Castiel’s ear, pulled him in close, and hissed, “How dare you invite someone over without asking first. How dare you _tell me_ what will happen in my own house. You’ll pay for this tomorrow, understand?”

“Yes, Father.” He had expected Father to be angry, but that was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Father released him and waved him away, so he joined Dean in his bedroom. Dean had the air mattress all set up. Castiel grabbed sheets, a blanket, and a pillow from the spare closet. “Here,” he said, tossing the items onto the air mattress. “You may use these.”

“Thanks.”

As Dean drew the sheets over the air mattress, Castiel perched on the edge of his bed and contemplated Dean’s situation. If Mr. Winchester were to behave again as he had today, Dean and his brother would be going back to that park. It was an isolated spot. What if something happened to them? “Dean,” he said.

Dean looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“If your father gives you trouble again, I want you and Sam to come stay here. Please.”

“Your dad’s okay with that?”

“Yes.” It was a lie, but Dean and Sam deserved a safe space. Father would not dare do anything in their presence for fear that others might learn of it.

“Cool. All right. Sure.” They grinned at each other.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean awoke to the heavenly smell of bacon and pancakes. He rolled off of the air mattress and noticed that Cas’s bed was empty.

He had enjoyed his time with Cas last night, though he couldn’t remember much of what they’d done. Just talk, really. The only TV was in the living room, and apparently Mr. Novak allowed Cas to watch it only sparingly. He had to approve of everything Cas watched, too. What a Nazi.

He recalled one conversation that still made him feel a twinge of guilt.

“Where’s your mom?” Dean had asked. And Cas had got this devastated look.

“She left us ten years ago,” Cas had replied.

“Sorry, man.”

Cas had put on a brave smile, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. “It’s all right.”

Dean had discovered that Cas had two brothers, Gabriel and Michael. It had sounded like Gabriel was the cool one. He’d told Cas about Mom and Sammy. And Dad, so Cas would know he wasn’t always a jackass. He did care about his boys, and sometimes he was amazing. So he made a few mistakes. Dean could forgive him, provided Mom and Sammy weren’t hurt. And they weren’t, so it wasn’t a big deal.

Dean stood up and grimaced at his clothes. They were the same ones from yesterday, but they had to do. He strolled into the kitchen, where Cas, still clad in blue pajama pants and a white shirt, was standing in front of the stove. “Good morning.” Cas jumped, and Dean chuckled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Cas glanced at him over his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

“I see you’re makin’ breakfast.”

“Yes. Pancakes and eggs and bacon.”

“Awesome. I fuckin’ love bacon.”

“You may pour yourself a drink, if you wish.”

Dean raided the fridge and found some orange juice. He poured it into a glass and settled at the kitchen table. “Where’s your dad? Doesn’t he want breakfast?”

“I don’t know,” Cas replied uncertainly. “He’s usually demanding his food by now.”

“Demanding his food? You make breakfast every Saturday?”

“Every weekend.” That was kind of fucked up. Did Mr. Novak think that Cas was his personal slave? It wasn’t just that. The way Cas had said it, it was like he’d been freakin’ trained by Mr. Novak. Like a dog or somethin’.

Cas heaped food onto two plates and left the remainder on a third plate by the stove. He placed one plate in front of Dean and the other in front of the seat beside him. Castiel poured himself a glass of milk and joined Dean at the table. “I suppose it is just us.”

Dean tossed a piece of bacon into his mouth and moaned in delight. He poured syrup on his pancakes and took a bite. “Oh, my God, Cas! This is fuckin’ delicious.”

Cas reddened. “Thank you.”

After they finished eating, Dean checked his watch and winced. “It’s almost eleven. I’ve gotta pick up Sammy from Kevin’s.”

“Will your father--?”

“Mom should be home by now. Which means he’ll be fine.” He clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Don’t worry ’bout it.”

“Okay.” Still, Cas looked troubled. Whatever. Cas had sworn he wouldn’t tell anyone, so everything was squared away.

He headed toward Kevin’s house, where he chatted with Mrs. Tran for a minute before he and Sam left. At the first red light, Sam turned to him and started bitching. “What the hell, Dean? Dad attacked you _again_?”

“It’s not a big deal, Sammy. I’m okay.”

“Bullshit. You have a busted lip. And those bruises on your neck.” Sam gasped and squealed, “Oh, my God, did he try to _strangle_ you?”

“I’m okay,” Dean repeated.

“I guess you spent the night at that park again?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I stayed with Cas.”

“Ruby says he’s a freak.”

“Ruby should eat shit and die.” Sam glared at him. This Ruby chick had too much influence on Sam. It was almost like you couldn’t have a conversation with him without Ruby this and Ruby that. “He’s actually pretty cool.”

“Whatever. Don’t talk about Ruby like that.”

They arrived home, where Mom’s car was parked next to Dad’s truck. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, glad that Mom was home on time. Mom embraced Dean and Sam once they were inside.

She kissed Dean on the forehead and asked, “What happened to you, darling? Where’d you get that busted lip?” She ran a hand over Dean’s neck. “And those bruises?”

“I got in a fight,” Dean replied. Well, it was true. Sort of.

“Gosh. Sometimes I worry about you, dear. All these fights you get into . . . ”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I can take care of myself.”

xxxxxxxxxx

After putting away the last of the dishes, Castiel turned to face Father. He held a switch in his hands. Castiel knew what was coming. Discipline.

“This is how it’s going to be, Castiel,” Father said. Castiel’s mind latched onto the snap snap of Father tapping the tip against one hand. He felt dizzy. Father looked more irate than he had for some time. “You have been naughty. First, you invite a boy here without asking for my permission. In fact, you tell me he is going to stay here, as if you are the parent and I am the child.” He tsked. “Overthrowing the natural order of things. You shall receive ten lashes for this offense.

“Then there’s the matter of this morning’s unsatisfactory breakfast. All the food was stone cold.”

“I prepared it at the time you usually eat on Saturdays,” Castiel objected, inwardly cringing at his audacity. “If you had eaten with Dean and me, the food would have been hot.”

Father slapped the switch against the table, and Castiel flinched. “You think I want to eat with that thug?” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Father’s anger kept him silent. “You shall receive two lashes for your insolence and five for the breakfast. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Castiel replied through trembling lips.

Father touched the tabletop with the switch. “Come here. You know what to do.”

Indeed he did. He hated this, both the humiliation and the pain. He approached Father and leaned his stomach against the table. He undid his pants, and they sank to his ankles; then he dropped his boxers. Castiel closed his eyes and attempted to steel himself. He gripped the edge of the table.

“Count aloud,” Father commanded.

The lashes fell against Castiel’s butt and thighs. He felt blood oozing from the wounds. He was determined not to weep, to remain stoic, but by the ninth stroke, his voice began to waver. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he did not sob. At least he could prevent Father from having that satisfaction. Because he knew Father received joy from this, “disciplining” his children for perceived wrongs. Giving them their “penance” and “teaching them a lesson.” He had studied Father as he disciplined Gabriel time and time again, seen that gleam of excitement in Father’s eyes. That was when he knew Father’s punishments were wrong, for he used them to gain some sort of twisted pleasure.

Father’s discipline had bestowed extreme personalities on his brothers. Michael had believed all the propaganda Father had spouted, while Gabriel had rejected everything, determined to do whatever upset Father.

Castiel would become like Michael, he knew. Because even though he didn’t believe everything Father said, he still wished to make Father proud, simply because he _was_ his father.

xxxxxxxxxx

The group met in front of the school thirty minutes before Back to School Night was scheduled to start. Anna took roll and announced, “Okay. Try to look approachable so parents aren’t afraid to ask you questions. If someone looks lost, offer to help. We’ll work in pairs. Hannah will be with me.”

“I’ll take Cas,” Dean called. He observed the flash of happiness in Cas’s eyes, and it warmed him just a little. They’d grown more comfortable with each other after that awkward conversation in P.E. on Friday. Cas had thought Dean was setting him up for ridicule, or perhaps using him, and that was the saddest fucking thing Dean had ever heard. The guy had been friendless for so long that he was distrustful of anyone who tried to talk to him. Unfortunately, Cas’s suspicions weren’t all that far-fetched, when you considered people like Lilith. No wonder the guy had been wary.

The more he spoke to Cas, the more he realized that Cas was pretty cool. He was a little weird, and he didn’t always understand social cues, but so what?

Charlie grabbed Benny’s wrist and declared, “He’s with me.”

“Okay,” Anna said. “That leaves Lilith and Jo together.”

“Shit,” Jo mumbled.

“I swear,” Lilith muttered under her breath, “I don’t know why I volunteered to work with you losers.”

Dean knew. She was the worst kind of bitch imaginable, the one who pretended to be perfect while feeding the nastiness underneath. She wanted to win the National Honor Society’s Most Service Hours Award so she could have something else to brag about.

Anna assigned everyone their spots, and he and Cas headed for the walkway between B wing and C wing. For a while, they were busy with directing confused parents to their destinations. Then all was quiet, but it would pick up once the parents moved on to their children’s next classes.

Five minutes after the rush ended, a couple approached them. “We’re looking for Lilith’s first hour, son,” the woman said to Dean. “AP Chemistry with Mrs. White. Do you know where that is?”

Dean smirked. “Sure.” This would be good for a laugh. “Just turn there into C wing, and it’ll be the third door on the left.”

“Thank you.” Dean chuckled to himself as they moved on, but then he noticed that Cas had grown pale. “What is it?”

“That is Mr. Turner’s room.”

Dean grinned. “I know.”

A minute later, Mr. and Mrs. DeVille scurried out of C wing and glared at Dean. “That was the wrong room, son,” Mr. DeVille complained.

“You, where’s Mrs. White’s room?” Mrs. DeVille asked Cas. He directed them to the third door on the left in B wing. Mrs. DeVille turned to Dean angrily.

Dean shrugged. “What can I say? Guess I got confused.”

“That is the most foul-mouthed man—I swear—the principal will be hearing about this!” she exclaimed before stalking away with her husband. Dean laughed once they were out of earshot. He’d heard of Mr. Turner’s abrasive personality, and he’d known that Mr. Turner’s manner might appall people like the DeVilles.

“Dean,” Cas said once his chortles had ceased, “do you think Mr. Turner will get in trouble?”

“No. I think he’s pretty tight with Mr. Henriksen. Why?”

“I like him,” Cas answered quietly.

Interesting. He hadn’t thought someone like Mr. Turner would appeal to a straight-laced guy like Cas. The more time Dean spent with Cas, the harder he was to decipher.

After parents shuffled to second hour, Cas pulled a book out from somewhere and leaned his shoulder against a pole, head bowed over the pages. Strands of dark brown hair flew in the breeze, and fuck, that shouldn’t be as endearing as it was. “What ’cha readin’?” Dean asked.

Cas closed the book, leaving an index finger inside to mark his place. “It’s a biography of Walt Whitman. I thought I would get started on our project.”

Dean snorted. “Dude, haven’t you heard of the Internet? We can do our research there.”

“We don’t have the Internet at home. Father doesn’t approve. He believes it is a corrupting influence.”

Dean guffawed. “The day you look at porn is the day I’ll eat my hat.” Cas tilted his head in confusion, and seriously, had he never heard that expression? “Whatever. There’s the school library.”

“Which closes fifteen minutes after our P.E. class. Anyway, books contain more accurate information.”

“Whatever. We should work on the project at my house. We have the Internet.”

“After this?”

“Yeah. Sure. We can get started.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel found himself anticipating lunch more and more each day. Whereas before lunch had been a chore to endure, now he had something to look forward to. His new friends—were they his friends?—were kind. Each person had their little quirks, which made them easy to like.

He suppressed a wince as he sat on the sidewalk between Hannah and Charlie. The wounds on his skin were still raw, and it hurt to sit. However, he would not give anyone reason to suspect anything was amiss. He would grin and bear the punishment, as he always had.

Castiel was biting into an apple when someone ruffled his hair. Startled, he turned to face the offender.

“Much better!” Charlie exclaimed.

Jo squinted at him and nodded. “Yep.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel asked.

“Your hair,” Charlie said. “You should wear it like that.”

Castiel frowned. “But it’s messed up.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “ _Duh_! And it’s totally dreamy.”

“Sexy bedhead is in,” Jo added.

Castiel rolled the words on his tongue, confused. “Sexy bedhead . . . ?”

When his eyes met Dean’s, Dean blushed. “Yeah. Looks good,” he murmured.

“You should wear it like that tomorrow,” Charlie concluded. “Trust me. It’s _hot_.” Castiel reddened. Surely Charlie was exaggerating. No one had ever dubbed him “hot.”

After the lunch bell rang, Castiel dashed to the bathroom and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He had to know how to replicate this look for tomorrow. It didn’t appear to need any styling, however. He could just roll out of bed and— _oh_. So that was bedhead.

He didn’t think he looked much different than usual, but nevertheless, he decided to try out the new hairstyle. On Friday morning, when he met Father at the front door, Father gave him a strange look. “Did you forget to brush your hair?”

Castiel attempted to sound self-assured. “No, Father. I am wearing my hair like this today.”

“What, like a hooligan?” Castiel didn’t reply, and Father emitted a long-suffering sigh.

Castiel felt ridiculous, though. Perhaps Charlie’s suggestion had been a joke. But then, on his way to philosophy class, he heard a girl say, “When did Castiel Novak get hot?”

He felt a little better after that.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean had been waiting for this day since school started.

Everyone gathered their chairs around Ms. Barnes, who announced, “It’s time for us to begin planning the first production of the season.” Excitement settled on the group of drama students. “Of course, we need to choose what we will be performing. Does anyone have an idea?” Dean and Charlie raised their hands. “Dean?” Ms. Barnes called. Charlie sulked. Over the summer, he and Charlie had come up with an ingenious idea. Okay, so Charlie had brainstormed most of the details, but Dean didn’t think it was unfair for him to lay out the plan.

“Me and Charlie thought it would be kind of cool to do a gender swap—”

“ _Sex_ swap,” Charlie corrected.

“Sex swap, whatever.” Charlie glared at him as if to say, _we’re talking about this later_. She’d explained the difference between gender and sex, but he couldn’t remember it. “Yeah, so we thought it would be awesome to do a sex swap version of _Romeo and Juliet_. You know, like, Romeo is a girl and Juliet is a boy. Lady Capulet is a man and Lord Capulet is a woman, and so on.”

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting idea,” Ms. Barnes commented.

“Oh, my God, no!” Delila exclaimed from across the room. “I’m not doing that! It’s too weird.”

“I’m not doing that, either,” a boy next to her, Jason, proclaimed. He pointed at Charlie and Dean. “Leave it to those two freaks to propose something indecent like that.”

“Who’re you callin’—” Dean began. He shut up when Charlie clamped a hand on his bicep.

“What do you think of Bill Gates, huh?” Charlie snapped. “Think he was called a freak in high school? I bet he was. Look at him now. Laughing his ass to the bank. And what the hell is _indecent_ about men and women switching roles?”

“Charlie,” Ms. Barnes warned.

“Sorry. I just think this is a great opportunity, you guys. How would the dynamic change if the sexes of the characters changed? Or would it not change at all? We could find out. Do something different for once, like true artists.”

A couple of students seemed intrigued, but most adamantly opposed the idea. Dean had known some people wouldn’t like it, but not that it would be _that_ offensive to them. Charlie had sold him on the concepts of observing dynamics and playing with identity. He had assumed those things were what acting was all about, but apparently not. At least not with this crowd.

Ms. Barnes held up a hand and yelled, “Quiet!” All chattering ceased. She gave Charlie and Dean an apologetic look. “Sorry, Charlie, Dean. It’s too controversial. Other ideas?”

“How about we adapt _10 Things I Hate About You_?” Laura suggested. “ _There’s_ a good alternative take on a Shakespeare play.”

Most of the other students enthused about the idea, and Dean sighed. Needless to say, Dean did not walk out of drama a happy camper.

“I can’t believe we’re staging a freakin’ _teen movie_ ,” Dean grumbled to Charlie as they headed toward their lunch spot.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I know. I swear, some of them are cavemen.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Jo asked as they sat down. “Y’all look pissed.”

“Because we are,” Dean replied. Cas settled across from him, and he did a double take.

It seemed absurd that a change in hairstyle could render such a difference, yet it did. Dean couldn’t help staring a minute. When it wasn’t flat, Cas’s hair looked so friggin’ soft. His eyes glowed a more vibrant blue. His expression grew puzzled, and Dean realized he’d been gazing at the guy for too long. “It looks good on you. The hair,” Dean offered up.

“Thank you.”

“So, you gonna tell us why y’all are so pissed?” Jo prodded.

“Oh. Yeah. The idiots in drama are makin’ us do a production of _10 Things I Hate About You_ ,” Dean responded.

“Oh, my God. Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“They wouldn’t even consider my idea,” Charlie sniffled. Dean patted her back sympathetically. Charlie wasn’t normally so emotional, but he knew how passionately she had felt about her idea. “A sex swap version of _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“Sex swap?” Benny said.

“Romeo is a girl, Juliet is a boy, etcetera”

“For what it’s worth, Charlie, I think your idea sounds infinitely more intriguing,” Cas put in. This was the first time he had asserted himself among the group. Dean was surprised but pleased.

Charlie wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and murmured, “Thanks, Cas.” And there was another first. So far, Dean had been the only one to refer to him as “Cas.” Perhaps this meant Cas had been absorbed into the fold.

“What is _10 Things I Hate About You_?”

Well, that kind of lessened the poignancy of it. “It’s this stupid teen adaptation of _The Taming of the Shrew_ ,” Dean answered.

“Oh. Then yes, I concur with what I said.” He agreed with himself? Okay then.

“C’mon, guys, it’s not that bad,” Garth chimed in. Everyone turned to him. “At least it’s better than _She’s All That_. The nerdy girl gets a makeover, and voila, she’s hot, and now the popular guy is in love with her. What kind of message does that send?”

Guilt settled in Dean’s gut. Wasn’t that what they’d sort of done to Cas? Not that anyone was in love with him, but still.

“Cas, you’ve never seen these movies?” Charlie inquired.

“No.”                                                                    

Charlie twirled a strand of red hair as she thought. “Hmm. I think you should know what we’re talking about. You should see these movies.”

“You think Cas should watch a couple of teen chick flicks?” Dean said skeptically.

“I mean, everyone else has seen them. It’s more for pop culture knowledge. So, listen. Here’s my idea. Let’s get together at my house tomorrow night and watch them.” Dean was about to object, but Charlie scowled at him. “It so won’t be a serious viewing.”

“C’mon, there are better movies we can watch.” Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Dean’s head. Cas didn’t have the Internet at his house, and he barely watched TV. There were bound to be essential movies he hadn’t seen. “Hey, Cas, you seen the _Back to the Future_ movies?”

Cas frowned. “No.” Several people gasped.

“ _Star Wars_?”

“No.”

“ _The Godfather_?”

“No.”

And then everyone was throwing stuff out there.

“ _Rocky_?” Benny.

“No.”

“ _Jaws_?” Jo.

“No.”

“ _E.T._?” Hannah.

“No.”

“ _Lord of the Rings_?” Charlie.

“No.”

“ _Mary Poppins_?” Garth. There were some raised eyebrows at that one.

“No.”

“ _Titanic_?” Andy.

“No.”

Everyone but Cas gawked at Andy. “What?” Andy retorted. “You know you cried when Rose—”

Hannah swatted him on the arm. “Shh! Don’t ruin it for Castiel.” And here was another unexpected development, the quiet Hannah responding like this, and—was Dean even living in the real world anymore?

“Okay, everyone,” Charlie said. “I’ve got the best idea. We’ll get together every Saturday to watch movies Cas hasn’t seen, starting with _She’s All That_ and _10 Things I Hate About You_. We’ll call it ‘Educating Castiel.’” She beamed. “Well. What do you think?”

“Awesome,” Dean replied. He already couldn’t wait to see Cas’s face when he found out Darth Vader was Luke’s father.

Everyone else agreed, and then they all looked to Cas, who was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “But I visit my brother every other Saturday.”

“Have him drop you off,” Dean said.

“It’s the only time I get to see him.”

“You can go back to his place. It’s not like we’ll keep you all goddamn night.” Dean smirked. “Unless you want us to.”

“No.” He remained silent for another minute then nodded. “Okay. Yes. I like this idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see people potentially thinking there's a sexual component to Zachariah's punishment of Castiel. If that's the case, just to clarify, there isn't. Rather, Zachariah is adhering to an old-school mindset about discipline. The "pleasure" he gets refers to how he feels exercising power over his children. He also enjoys generally inflicting pain, and that feeds into his desire for power.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome!


	4. Into the Fold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating to "Mature" because I still don't know how explicit this is going to get. There's still a good bit before Dean and Cas actually get together. If need be, I'll change back the rating later.
> 
> Warning for a passing reference to rape and slight appearance of homophobia.

After Father dropped Castiel off at Gabriel’s apartment, Castiel told him about tonight’s planned gathering. “Is—is that all right?” he stammered.

Gabriel plopped down beside Castiel on the couch (mercifully, it was cleaner than last time) and proffered a mischief-laden grin. Castiel’s stomach sank. What was Gabriel planning now? “’Course it is, Castiel dah-ling,” he drawled.

“Really?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Duh. About time ya got yourself a life.”

Castiel flushed. “But what about spending time with you?”

Gabriel waved a desultory hand. “We’ve got all of today and tomorrow, kiddo. ’Sides, what’s not to love about a night alone? I’ll just invite Kali over, and we’ll . . . hang.” His eyes sparkled, indicating that he meant to do more than merely “hang” with Kali. It probably involved sexual intercourse.

Castiel pointed at the air mattress and warned, “Keep off of that. I sleep there.”

Gabriel chuckled. “What do I look like, a barbarian?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, mister.”

Castiel and Gabriel ate lunch at a greasy pizzeria; then Gabriel dragged Castiel to a cotton candy festival. It was the most ridiculous thing Castiel had ever heard of, but Gabriel insisted, and his eyes lit up when they arrived. Never mind that there were few booths or people present. Castiel consumed so much cotton candy that he felt sick, but Gabriel ate twice as much as him. Castiel didn’t understand how his brother could do it without barfing. With all the sweets he consumed, it seemed unfair that he never got any cavities.

Everyone had agreed to meet at Charlie’s around six. Castiel rattled off directions to Gabriel as he drove his dilapidated yellow VW toward their destination. Eventually, they pulled into a long driveway flanked by stately oaks. The house was a two-story white affair with several impressive colonnades spaced along the length of the front porch.

Gabriel whistled. “This chick’s got a sugar daddy and mommy, huh?”

“Gross, Gabriel.”

“Where’s your sense of humor?”

Castiel sighed. “You’ll pick me up when I call you?”

“Sure.”

Castiel slid out of the car, and Gabriel waved ostentatiously as he drove away.

When he reached the front door, Castiel hesitated. He chewed his lip. Should he really be here? He might start to annoy them, and then he would be back to eating lunch alone. What if he made a laughing stock of himself? Maybe he could go off to a park or something for a few hours and pretend like he saw everyone if Gabriel asked questions.

He scanned his surroundings and noted Dean’s Impala parked by the curb. Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier? Probably because he and Gabriel had come from the other direction and Castiel had been focused on calming his nerves.

For some reason, seeing that car gave him the courage he needed. He pressed the doorbell and waited. A moment later, the door swung open, and he was greeted by a familiar fiery-haired girl sporting a bright blue Pac-Man T-shirt. (He recognized the character only because Gabriel had once forced him to play the game at an arcade.) A dusting of flour covered her nose.

“Come in!” she exclaimed. Castiel stepped inside, and she shut the door. He followed her as she wound her way toward the kitchen. “You’re early.”

He checked his watch. “It’s six o’clock.”

“No one’s ever _on time_.”

He looked up and saw Dean bent over a pie tin. “He’s here,” Castiel pointed out.

“That’s because he’s _Dean_.” As if that clarified things. Castiel gazed back at her cluelessly.

Dean glanced up. “I’ve been here almost all day. We’ve been, um, baking for tonight.” He blushed.

Dean liked to cook? That was surprising. And endearing. “Oh.”

“’Course, we’re orderin’ pizza and eatin’ popcorn, but we thought it’d be nice to make dessert . . . ”

Charlie flashed Dean a teasing smile. “His idea.”

“Oh.” Why couldn’t Castiel think of anything better to say?

“Hey, Cas, you wanna help me put the finishing touches on these pies?” Dean gestured at one of the two still-steaming specimens. “You can sprinkle the cinnamon on this one.”

“All right,” Castiel answered. The pie _did_ smell good. Buttery crust, juicy apples, and a faint whiff of cinnamon from the shakers. Dean handed Castiel a shaker and turned back to the pie in front of himself.

“Hannah called,” Charlie announced behind them. “She asked if it was okay if she brought Anna. I told her she could. You don’t mind, do you?”

Dean turned to face her. “Nah.”

“Cas?” Charlie prompted. Castiel jumped. What would Charlie care what he thought?

“That is fine,” he answered. But truthfully, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew Anna from the fencing team, and they’d shared a couple of classes. She seemed kind, yet he didn’t know her that well. He got a sense that she didn’t like him very much.

When Castiel finished shaking cinnamon onto the piecrust, he scanned the kitchen. The wooden floorboards and stainless steel appliances gleamed. Black marble countertops ran along the perimeter of the room.

The doorbell rang, and Charlie, nose now flourless, looked up from a brownie sheet she was cutting into squares. “Can you get that, Cas?”

“Okay,” Castiel replied. He shuffled into the living room, which boasted the same wooden floors as the kitchen. A large flat-screen TV took up one whole wall. Puffy cushions lined the brown couches.

He opened the front door, and Hannah and Anna strode inside. Neither of them glanced in his direction. Anna was railing to Hannah. “This better not be lame. You know I blew off Gordon’s party? I swear, Hannah, if this is lame . . . ”

Hannah shut the door behind them. Anna stopped dead in her tracks before she ran into Castiel. “If you thought you wouldn’t enjoy coming here, Anna, perhaps you should have attended Gordon’s party instead,” Castiel commented. Honestly, he was surprised Anna hadn’t gone. Gordon was one of the cool kids, in with Lilith’s crowd. Anna was popular, too, even if she did not belong to Lilith’s clique. Maintaining that popularity required showing up to the so-called important social events. Like any party hosted by Lilith or one of her friends.

Anna’s eyes widened. “Oh. You didn’t tell me Castiel was going to be here.”

“Why, is that a problem?” Dean inquired. He stood on the threshold between the living room and kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. Anna gawked at him.

Charlie joined Dean in the doorway. “Well, is it?” Anna stared at them, speechless.

“Anna?” Hannah prompted.

Anna's mouth hung open. “Jesus Christ! Of course not. We’re friends, aren’t we?” She turned to Castiel for confirmation. He nodded, though he wasn’t sure he’d actually label her as a “friend.” “Yeah. I was just surprised is all. Castiel . . . ”

“Castiel what?” Dean said.

“He just—” Anna blushed. “I didn’t know he—never mind.” She avoided eye contact with everyone. “Um. Where’s your bathroom?”

Charlie pointed a little past the kitchen toward the hallway. “Turn left, and it’s the last door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Charlie sank into one of the couches and wiped her brow. “You guys can sit down, you know.”

Castiel and Dean joined her on the couch. The doorbell sounded, and Hannah opened the door. Garth and Andy entered. Castiel noted that Andy’s eyes were stunningly lucid; he was neither stoned nor drunk. Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen Andy sober.

Benny and Jo arrived last, each carrying three boxes of pizza. “Here’s the pizza, brotha,” Benny announced to Dean when he answered the door.

“Awesome,” Dean replied. He waved at the oaken coffee table. "You can put ’em there.” Jo and Benny followed Dean’s suggestion, opening four boxes. Cheese, pepperoni, veggie, and supreme. Underneath the pepperoni and supreme offerings sat two extra boxes, presumably containing pizzas with the same topping as those above them.

“I already had pizza today,” Castiel recalled.

“So?” Dean responded. “You can never have too much pizza.”

Castiel didn’t think that was true, but he had no reason to argue. Besides, the pizza _did_ smell good. Charlie and Dean rushed to the kitchen and returned with a stack of plates and various soda cans. “Dig in, peeps,” Charlie urged.

Castiel grabbed a Coca-Cola and piled three pieces of veggie pizza onto his plate. Dean eyed his selection and rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“What?” Castiel asked.

“Of course you’d go for the healthy one.”

“There is no such thing as healthy pizza.”

Dean waggled his eyebrows as he grabbed slices of the pepperoni and supreme. “Then why not go all out, huh?”

“I don’t like pepperoni.”

Dean’s eyes bugged, and Castiel couldn’t help giggling. The sandy-haired boy just looked so comical. “Blasphemy! Who the hell doesn’t like pepperoni?”

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs, and Dean scowled. “Plenty of people don’t like pepperoni, Dean-o.”

“Yeah, freaks.”

“Hey, don’t judge. We’re all freaks here.”

“True.”

“Should we start the movie?”

“Sure.”

“Which one are we watchin’ first?” Jo asked.

“Let’s go with _10 Things I Hate About You_ ,” Andy answered.

“Since the idiots at school think we should stage it, Dean and I need to jog our memory,” Charlie added.

Charlie popped in the DVD, and everyone shifted in their seats until they were comfortable. They stuffed themselves senseless with pizza and guzzled soda. Soon, all of the pizza was gone. After giving everyone time to digest, Dean and Charlie microwaved large bags of popcorn for each person and passed them around. Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if he had a stomachache tomorrow morning, and they still hadn’t eaten dessert.

The others threw in random comments as they watched the movie. Castiel was hesitant to join in at first, but Dean kept asking him to express an opinion. Eventually, he gave in, and his friends (were they his friends?) seemed to find him witty.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said somewhere in the middle of the movie. “Why does everyone like Bianca better than Kat? Kat seems more interesting.”

“Because they’re idiots,” Charlie muttered. “Kat is boss. I mean, she’s read _The Feminine Mystique_.”

“Hmm,” Dean mumbled. “I hope I get to play Heath Ledger.”

“And I can be Kat.”

“I have to kiss you? No thanks.”

“I don’t want to be Kat, anyway. I want to play one of the male characters. Maybe Joey.”

Dean snorted. “You think Ms. Barnes would let you do that when everyone objected to the sex swap thing? She can’t put lesbianism in. There’d be a riot. All the asshats in drama—and let’s face it, there’s a lot of ’em—would complain. Parents would complain.”

“Father would complain, too,” Castiel said quietly.

“Yeah, and some of the damn teachers would complain.”

“Grr,” Charlie hissed. Her face reddened.

“It’s not fair,” Garth opined.

“Sure ain’t,” Dean agreed.

“But it also wouldn’t be fair to force your moral code on other people,” Anna stated.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“I mean, it’s against many people’s beliefs, and you shouldn’t try to make them fit your mold.”

“But, Anna,” Hannah said in a low voice. “By not letting Charlie express herself as she wishes, isn’t the school and the drama group trying to make her fit their mold?”

Everyone turned to Hannah, impressed by her cogent argument. She blushed under the attention.

“I guess that’s true,” Anna conceded.

“Maybe I can be Michael. We can change the name to Michaela.”

“He also has a girlfriend,” Jo said.

“They can turn her into a boy,” Benny replied.

“Whatever,” Dean concluded. “As long as I get to be Heath Ledger.”

Once the film was over, Anna sighed and said, “I love that movie.”

“I guess it ain’t too bad for a chick flick,” Dean admitted.

“It’s actually pretty cool,” Andy said.

“Yeah,” Garth echoed.

“Still a stupid thing for us to perform, though,” Dean said.

“Yep.”

Before beginning _She’s All That_ , everyone filled their plates with dessert: apple pie, ice cream, chocolate chip cookies, and brownies. Gabriel would love this, Castiel thought. Castiel topped his slice of pie with vanilla ice cream. As the film started, Castiel took his first bite. The crust was _amazingly_ flaky and buttery, the cinnamon perfectly complementing the apples . . .

“Mmm,” Castiel moaned. Who knew Dean could bake something so _delicious_?

“Good, yeah?” Dean said through a mouthful of pie.

“Very.”

Dean swallowed and shoved another bite into his mouth. “’S my mom’s recipe.” On the screen, the main character (was his name Zack?) was making a bet with his best friend. Dean, his name was. To win the bet, Zack was supposed to turn an unpopular girl into the prom queen. Castiel noted that Garth looked distinctly uncomfortable, and he wondered what exactly Lilith and her friends had done to him during prom last year. Why did people have to behave in such a vile manner? “Ugh,” Dean muttered. “Fuckin’ douchebag. Why does his name have to be Dean?”

“’Cause that’s what they name douchebags,” Jo replied.

“Oh, snap!” Benny said. He and Jo bumped fists.

Castiel wrinkled his brow. “No, it’s not.” Why would they call their own friend a douchebag?

“It’s just a joke, man,” Andy said. Everyone laughed, and Castiel grew apprehensive. Would they now deride him for his social ineptitude? No doubt it was time for them to reject him, he mused. Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s. He abruptly ceased chuckling, and his expression softened. Castiel didn’t know what to make of that.

As Garth had mentioned at school, the nerdy girl, Laney, was given a makeover. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be her friend, and she became a serious contender for prom queen.

“Hey, you think we’d get popular if we all got makeovers?” Dean gibed.

Jo rolled her eyes. “If it worked like that, you’d already be popular, Dean-o.”

“You callin’ me hot, Harvelle?”

“You know you are, but don’t get any ideas. I’m not dating your ass.”

“Who said I wanted to?”

Castiel studied Dean’s figure out of the corner of his eye. Dean _was_ very handsome, he realized. Which made his lack of popularity all the more puzzling.

“Y’all are actually an attractive bunch, you know,” Anna chimed in as she sipped at her Coke.

“There’s more to popularity than looks,” Hannah pointed out.

“Like style and personality,” Andy supplied.

“And we’re all a bunch of geeks, personality-wise,” Charlie concluded. “Well, besides Anna.”

“So what? You have to be a douchebag to be popular?” Dean asked.

“Pretty much,” Benny said.

“That’s not true,” Anna objected. “Zack’s not a douchebag.”

“Sure he is,” Dean retorted.

“No.”

Dean shrugged. “Even if he isn’t, his friends are douchebags.”

“Whatever.”

Eventually, Laney found out about the bet and decided to go to the prom with Dean. Dean planned to have sex with Laney by the end of the night. Castiel clenched his hands into fists, afraid of where the movie was headed. “He doesn’t rape her, does he?” he inquired softly.

“Nah. She gets away from him,” Dean replied. Castiel stared at him, horrified.

Castiel was unsettled by the inclusion of such an element in a film aimed at teenagers. Were some of his peers really like that? Could Lilith and her friends be that depraved?

After the movie ended, Andy, Garth, Hannah, and Anna left while the others helped Charlie clean up. When the task was finished, Benny asked Castiel if he’d like a ride home. Castiel accepted, and he rode in the backseat of Benny’s blue Jeep while Jo took the front passenger seat. Benny dropped Castiel off first. Castiel waved at Benny and Jo as he ascended the stairs to Gabriel’s apartment. He unlocked the door, stepped into the living room, and—

“Oh, my God! Gabriel!” Castiel shrieked.

Gabriel was lying on the air mattress with Kali on top of him, riding his penis. Her breathy moans stopped when she heard Castiel, and she jumped to her feet. She grabbed her clothes from beside the air mattress, cut her eyes at Gabriel, and dashed out of the apartment.

“You said you were gonna call, squirt,” Gabriel complained.

“I forgot,” Castiel replied. He mentally kicked himself. He’d known that Gabriel would probably be having sex with Kali, but he’d enjoyed himself so much that he hadn’t thought about Gabriel when Benny offered him a ride home. There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to rid Castiel’s brain of the traumatizing scene he’d just witnessed. “A friend drove me home.”

“ _Ob_ -vi-ous-ly.”

If he _had_ called ahead, though, Castiel would have slept on that air mattress without knowing what Gabriel had been doing. “Where am I supposed to sleep now, Gabriel?”

Gabriel flopped his head back onto the air mattress. “What’s wrong with here?”

“You couldn’t do that on the couch?”

“’S dirty.” A few new dishes were strewn across the sofa, Castiel observed. This place was such a pigsty; he was astonished Kali hadn’t been turned off by it.

“Or your bed?”

“What can I say? I couldn’t wait.”

“Gross.”

Gabriel chuckled. Castiel could choke him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas had gotten permission to go home with Dean after school so they could work on their English project. After fencing, Cas walked with him toward the front of the school, but Sam was nowhere to be found. “The fuck?” Dean commented. “Where’s Sammy?”

“Could he have gone home with his friend again?” Cas asked.

“No, he would’ve told me. Oh, my God, what if something happened to him?”

Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sure he is fine, Dean.”

Dean eyed Castiel’s hand dubiously. “Cas. Personal space.”

“What?”

“Um. You’ve gotta give people personal space. No random touching and stuff like that.”

Cas removed his hand and took a step back. “My apologies.” Dean ran a hand through his hair as he thought about what to do next. “Perhaps we should walk around the school?” Cas suggested.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. He and Cas strolled around the side of the school and reached the wooded area behind it. Dean spotted Sam standing with a brown-haired girl beside a birch tree. There wasn’t enough space between them. “Sammy!” he shouted as he and Cas approached.

Sam spun around and blanched. “Hi, Dean. Your class is done already?”

“Dude, don’t you know what time it is?”

Sam gestured at the girl, who sported a disdainful smirk. “This is Ruby.”

“Hi, Dean,” Ruby said. What gave her the right to that fuckin’ sneer?

“Hey, Ruby.”

Ruby gazed pointedly at Cas. Sam coughed and said, “Uh, that’s Dean’s friend Cas. Castiel Novak.” Sam donned a miniature version of Ruby’s scornful smile.

Ruby eyed Cas as if he were the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen. “Hiya, Cas.” She smacked her gum.

“Hello, Ruby.”

She glanced at Sam and snickered. Dean wanted to slap that smug look off her face. “Well, we’re headin’ home,” Dean told Sam.

“Okay.” He turned to Ruby. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Ruby echoed.

In the parking lot, Sam crawled into the back of the Impala, and Castiel hesitated beside the car. “Guess shotgun’s yours,” Dean muttered.

“Oh. All right,” Cas replied.

During the drive home, Dean thought about Ruby. She and Sam appeared to be growing dangerously close. Sam definitely didn’t need to be associating with her, and not just because she was Lilith’s sister. Her attitude was despicable. She acted as if Dean and Cas were beneath her. Lord knew why someone like that would even go after sweet, dorky Sam. She wouldn’t be setting him up like Lilith had done with Garth, would she? No, Dean sensed that she genuinely liked Sam, even if he didn’t understand why.

When they arrived home, Sam rushed off to his bedroom. Dean and Cas dropped their backpacks off in Dean’s room and logged on to the computer in a corner of the living room. They printed off a bunch of research then returned to Dean’s room. Cas preferred to parse through the biographical details, so Dean handed him the relevant printouts and began wading through some of Whitman’s poetry.

“ _Leaves of Grass_ ,” Dean murmured to himself.

Cas glanced up from his sheaf of papers. “You did not print the whole thing, did you?”

“No. Just the most famous poems.” He read “O Captain! My Captain!” first. That was a good one, he thought. He remembered it from _Dead Poets Society_. Cas needed to see that. After they watched _Star Wars_ , of course.

Next, he flipped to “Song of Myself” and whistled. This one sure was long. “I like this free verse,” he commented as he began perusing the poem. He did a double take as he continued. “Wow. Some of this stuff’s kinda dirty. Listen to this:

> “ _I mind how we lay such a transparent summer morning,_
> 
> _How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,_
> 
> _And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,_
> 
> _And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet_.

“Dude’s basically gettin’ stripped. How’d he get away with this in, what, the 1850s?”

“The first edition was published in 1855,” Cas supplied. “And he didn’t. Get away with it, that is. The publication accrued much controversy.”

“Hmm.” Reading “Song of Myself” took freakin’ _forever_. He chose to read “I Sing the Body Electric” next because the title was badass. As he began, he almost choked on his own breath. “Hey, Cas. This one’s pretty dirty, too.

> “ _The expression of the face balks account,_
> 
> _But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,_
> 
> _It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,_
> 
> _It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,_
> 
> _The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,_
> 
> _To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,_
> 
> _You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side._

“He’s checkin’ someone out. And ‘dress does not hide him’? I think he’s imagining the guy naked. Now that _definitely_ wouldn’t fly back in 1855.”

“No,” Cas said. His eyes met Dean’s. “But I don’t think he’s imagining the other man naked.”

“Sure he is.”

“No. He’s admiring how the man’s clothes hug his body.”

Made sense, what with the part about “cotton and broadcloth.” Dean studied Cas as he contemplated the poem. He noted Cas’s joints, his wrists. He had slender wrists. Delicate but strong. Beautiful. Cas probably had a gorgeous figure beneath the baggy clothes he favored. If his shirt clung to his back—

What the fuck? Dean mentally shook himself. Damn stupid poem. It was giving him gay thoughts. He wasn’t gay. Not that there was anything wrong with that, just, it wasn’t him.

“Dean? Are you all right?” Cas asked.

“’Course,” he muttered.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, and they both jumped. “Mom says dinner’s ready!” Sam yelled. Pounding feet receded from the door.

“You wanna stay for dinner?” Dean inquired.

Cas hesitated. “Will your parents mind?”

“’Course not.”

Cas smiled. “All right.”

In the kitchen, everyone else was already seated around the table. Dean announced, “Mom, Dad, this is Cas.—”

“Castiel Novak,” Sam inserted.

“Right. He can eat dinner with us, right?”

Mom grinned. “Yes, Dean.” She turned to Cas, whose face appeared to light up when Mom smiled at him. She tended to have that effect on people. “It is good to meet you, Cas.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Winchester,” Cas declared as he sat down. Dean followed suit.

Mom stood up and said, “I’ll fix you a plate, Cas.” Dean waited until Cas had food in front of him before he started eating. Chicken and dumplings, mashed potatoes, and broccoli. Delicious. Well, the broccoli was merely okay, but what could you expect, it was broccoli.

“Cas, I understand that your dad is a teacher at the school?” Mom asked.

Cas swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes. “Yes, ma’am. He teaches Honors American Government to tenth graders.”

“Did you have him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he go easy on you?”

Cas took a sip of Coke and answered, “No. If anything, he was harder on me than the other students.”

“I see.”

“Cas and I are doin’ an English project together,” Dean mentioned.

“Oh, really? What about?”

“Walt Whitman.”

“I adore Walt Whitman.”

That startled Dean. It wasn’t like Mom read things like smutty romance novels. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think his stuff’s kinda, I dunno. Dirty?”

She gave him an amused look. “Only if you’re immature. Not everything about the human body is dirty.”

“What’s this Walt Whitman you’re talkin’ about?” Dad demanded.

“He’s a poet, dear.”

“And he writes about sex and shit like that?”

Dean blushed. “Not exactly—” he began.

“John!” Mom hissed at the same time. She eyed Cas apologetically.

“If the school’s got Dean readin’ filthy poems—”

“No, dear. They are perfectly appropriate for someone his age.”

“Hmph.”

Mom was right, he decided. Whitman’s poems were freakin’ awesome, if you were mature enough to get over dumb shit. He couldn’t imagine someone like Gordon reading Whitman’s work. Gordon and his ilk would point and giggle, not even attempting to appreciate Whitman’s purpose. Douchebags.

Dean looked up from his food and observed that Dad kept glancing furtively at Cas. Each time he did so, his eyes held undisguised hatred. Cas had noticed, too, and he looked uneasy. When he turned to Dean, Dean tried to smile at him reassuringly, but Cas still seemed nervous. Frightened, even.

Cas had seen Dad drunk the week before last, witnessed his disgraceful behavior. Dad probably feared that Cas would rat him out, but he wouldn’t. Dean had made sure of that.

xxxxxxxxxx

Tonight’s Mexican food didn’t compare with Mrs. Winchester’s cooking, Castiel thought. Yesterday’s meal had been infinitely superior. Father and Michael loved this restaurant, but Castiel always found it mediocre.

Father’s hostile glances reminded him of Mr. Winchester’s. The man must have remembered what Castiel had seen him do, and now he despised him. Castiel was a little afraid to return to Dean’s house if Mr. Winchester was there. Something about Mrs. Winchester, though, made him feel safe.

“Castiel,” Father said. Castiel started. Hadn’t Father been embroiled in a long conversation with Michael? “I hear that you’ve been eating lunch with Charlie Bradbury. Is that true?”

“Yes, Father.” Thank goodness Father and he had different lunch periods. Otherwise, he might have found out about Charlie sooner. He’d known Father wouldn’t approve of their association, but Castiel did not care. He enjoyed spending time with Charlie and the rest of Dean’s group.

“Don’t you know what a degenerate she is?”

Castiel glanced up at him through his lashes, all faux innocence. Not that he concurred with Father’s opinion of Charlie as a degenerate, but he knew perfectly well what Father meant. “No, Father. What do you mean by ‘degenerate.’?”

Father smacked his hand, which caused the metal handle of his fork to dig into his palm. Castiel winced. “You know damn well what I mean.”

“Father,” Michael interrupted, brown eyes curious. “Who is Charlie Bradbury?”

“A lesbian.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “And Castiel is friends with her?”

“Apparently.”

Michael sipped at his wine then declared, “I don’t know. I think it’s all right.”

“What?!”

“Her life choices are abominable, of course. But haven’t we always wanted our Castiel to make friends?” _“Our Castiel_.” Castiel hated that Father and Michael called him that, as if he was an object that belonged to them.

“But not with the wrong people.”

“No. But baby steps, Father. Baby steps. Eventually he’ll outgrow her and find someone more suitable.”

“All right. But, Castiel. Do not adopt her beliefs. They will only send you to hell. If you do, I will speed up your journey toward damnation. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father,” Castiel replied. He didn’t dare look at Michael, not wanting to see the smug agreement on his face.

Castiel would pay lip service to Father, but he was wrong. Oh, how he was wrong. Castiel would not ever give up Charlie or any of his other new friends, not unless they grew tired of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the Whitman quotes from [here.](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1322?msg=welcome_stranger)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated. :)
> 
> I can be found on tumblr under the same user name.


	5. We Sing of Ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for use of a homophobic slur and child abuse. Also, there are a couple of spoilers for _Dead Poets Society_.
> 
> Feedback is welcome and much appreciated! Thanks for reading! :)

Dean swallowed a bite of his omelet and announced, “Cas is comin’ over to work on our English project. I hope that’s okay?”

Mom smiled. “Of course, dear.”

“Hmph,” Dad mumbled. “I don’t like that boy. There’s somethin’ off about him.” Dean mentally shrank. He knew the truth behind Dad’s attitude toward Cas, and it had nothin’ to do with how “off” he was. Not that Cas didn’t have his quirks, but Dad’s negative opinion was all about fear of discovery.

“I think he seems nice.”

“I’m with Dad on this one,” Sam chimed in. “The guy’s a freak.”

“You only think that because Ruby says so,” Dean retorted.

“Ruby?” Mom echoed. “The girl in Sam’s geometry class?”

“Yeah. They’ve gotten _awfully_ close.”

Dean was hoping Mom would be mortified, but instead she grinned at Sam. “Does my baby boy have a girlfriend?”

Sam flushed and stared down at his plate. “Shuddup.”

God, Dean hoped Ruby wasn’t Sam’s girlfriend. He could do so much better.

After they finished brunch, Dean helped Mom clean up. He’d just put the last fork in the dishwasher when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Dean called. He threw open the door to find Cas on his doorstep, blue backpack hanging off his shoulders. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” His blue eyes were brighter than usual, sparkling with happiness. “May I come in?”

“’Course.” Dean moved aside so Cas could step inside. He realized that there hadn’t been a car in sight. “Dude, did you walk here?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s only a couple of blocks.” True. When he spotted Mom, Cas greeted her with, “Good morning, Mrs. Winchester.” He cocked his head to the side. “Or is it afternoon?”

Mom glanced at the microwave clock. “It’s 12:10, so I guess it’s technically _after_ noon.” Kind of a lame joke, but Mom and Cas burst into raucous laughter. It warmed him to see his mom and Cas getting along so well. “Would you like something to drink, Cas?” Mom offered. “A Coke, perhaps?”

Cas hesitated before answering. “Sure, Mrs. Winchester. If you do not mind?”

“Of course I don’t. Why do you think I asked?” Mom dug two cans of Coke out of the fridge and handed one to each boy.

“Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.”

“You are very welcome.”

In his bedroom, Dean settled on the bed while Cas sat at the desk. They planned to work on their paper and presentation until this evening. Tonight, they’d head to Garth’s for movie night (or, as Charlie insisted on calling it, “educating Castiel”). He would drive Cas to Garth’s and give him a ride home since he lived so close. They would be watching _Dead Poets Society_ and _E.T._ He regretted that they weren’t viewing _Star Wars_ , but he wanted to start their presentation with the “O Captain! My Captain!” scene. Cas needed to know what they were referencing and why they were doing it.

They pulled the relevant papers out of their backpacks and spread them out all over the bed and desk. After that, Dean leapt onto the desk, gazed into the distance, and exclaimed, “O Captain! My Captain!”

Cas released a startled cry. “What was that?”

“The beginning of our presentation.”

Cas glanced at the scattered sheets on the floor. “You knocked our stuff down.”

Dean shrugged. “I had to try it out.” He grinned.

“We _cannot_ begin our presentation that way. I don’t want to lose points.”

“Aw, c’mon, Cas! It’s _Dead Poets Society_!”

Cas scrunched his eyebrows. “ _Dead Poets Society_?”

“Yeah. ’S a movie. We’re watchin’ it tonight.” Dean hopped off of the desk then jumped back on. “O Captain! My Captain!” He turned to Cas. “You’ve gotta do it, too.”

Cas looked petrified. “Oh, no. I’m not doing that.”

“Sure ya are.” Dean tugged at Cas’s elbow.

“No, Dean!” Cas insisted. “Don’t make me!”

“C’mon.” Cas stopped struggling, and Dean hauled him up to the desk so that he was awkwardly sprawled on the other side. “Stand up.”

“ _No_.”

“C’mon, you’ve gotta do it.”

Cas got to his feet and murmured, “O Captain My Captain?”

“Not like that, Cas. Give it some gusto.” Dean cleared his throat and boomed, “O Captain! My Captain!”

“I can’t do that, Dean.”

“Sure ya can.”

A self-conscious look descended upon Castiel’s face as he shouted, “O Captain! My Captain!” He still sounded hesitant.

“Better. But ya gotta say it like you mean it.”

“O Captain! My Captain!”

Dean whistled, impressed. Cas’s voice held so much respect and awe, it was like he was one of the students in the movie. “ _Much_ better!” He stepped off of the desk. “Now. I’m gonna do it first; then you’re gonna jump up and say it after me. Okay?”

“All right.”

“Get down here.”

Once Cas jumped off of the desk, Dean leapt up and shouted, “O Captain! My Captain!”

Right on cue, Cas hopped up and echoed him. “O Captain! My Captain!”

Dean clapped. “Bravo!” He scanned the room as he thought. “Now. Whose desk are we gonna stand on?”

“We’re actually going to do that?” Cas said, his voice climbing an octave higher. Which made it still pretty deep, considering.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Duh. Hey, I’d love to see the looks on Gordon’s and Bela’s faces if we used theirs. That’d be fun, huh?”

“I do not wish to incur their wrath.”

Jeez, sometimes talkin’ to Cas was like steppin’ into a time machine. “Fine. We’ll use Mr. Shurley’s.”

“Won’t he be mad?”

“Nah. Not as long as we don’t knock anything down.” He stared down at the mess of papers on the floor. “Who should we look at? Not the damn class.”

“Why do we need to look at anyone?”

“’Cause, that’s what they do in the movie. They’re honoring the teacher.” Dean frowned. “I’m not sure if I’d want to say that to Mr. Shurley. Hmm.” Dean contemplated the issue, and a minute later, he finally knew the answer. “I got it! I’ll look at you, and you’ll look at me.”

“What?”

“It’s either that or Mr. Shurley.”

“Fine.”

They gathered the fallen papers and resumed their seats. “Okay, which poem should we talk about in the paper?” Dean inquired.

“I asked Mr. Shurley about it. He said we needed to pick a long one since everyone else was analyzing a novel.”

“All right. Which one?”

“‘Song of Myself’?”

Dean snorted. “That one’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?”

“Then we can explain what makes it obvious.”

“Okay. Let’s get crackin’, huh?”

xxxxxxxxxxx

At 10:55, Dean pulled into Cas’s driveway. The group had busted their asses to make sure they would finish in time for Cas to be home by Mr. Novak’s ridiculous curfew. Everyone actually arrived at six o’clock and everything. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to worry about that shit half the time; Cas’s brother didn’t care how late he stayed out.

He heard a sniffle. “Cas. You all right?” The streetlight on the corner cast murky shadows over Cas’s figure.

“No,” Cas said. “I just. What happened to Neil because of his father.” His voice turned resolute. “I hate that motherfucker.”

Dean was taken aback by the utterance. Cas rarely cursed, but it wasn’t just that. The vehemence behind the declaration awed him.

“Yeah, he’s an asshole,” Dean mumbled.

“No, he’s more than that. He killed Neil, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah, why not let the kid act?” Dean was reminded of Dad. When he’d joined the drama program back in Dallas, Dad had thrown a fit. Told Dean it was a sissy thing to do, that he needed to quit or he would lose his manhood. Dean loved acting, but he had wanted Dad to be proud of him. “Why not go for the football team, Dean-o?” Dad had pestered. Over and over, until Dean became convinced he should try out. He had basked in Dad’s resultant smile.

But later, Mom had insisted on discussing the issue. Privately, without Dad. She’d told him that he shouldn’t be afraid to act if that’s what he wanted to do. And if he hated football, there was no need to try out for the team.

Dean didn’t care either way about football, but he’d realized Mom was right. He didn’t really want to throw on a helmet and bulky uniform to toss some pigskin around. Acting felt more fulfilling.

So yeah, he understood Neil’s inclinations very well. Too bad he hadn’t had someone like Mom around. Well, he’d had Mr. Keating, but that wasn’t the same.

Cas swiped at the corners of his eyes. “Dean, it hurts my heart so much.”

Cas sounded so distressed that Dean’s own heart hurt a little. “It’s just a movie, Cas.” There. Maybe he’d be okay now.

“I know. But it probably happens in real life all the time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, probably,” Dean acknowledged. What a depressing thought.

Cas stared at the front door. “I suppose I should go inside.”

“Yeah. Wait a minute.” Dean dug around the glove compartment until he found some napkins. “Here.”

Cas blew his nose. “Thank you, Dean.”

“’Welcome.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Cas.” When Cas stepped out of the car, the streetlamp cast a spotlight on him. Dean winced at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes and splotchy face. He really had been deeply affected by the movie.

Cas concentrated until he wore a neutral expression. Then he smiled at Dean and waved. Dean waved back before Cas strolled toward the house.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas slipped into class right before the bell rang. Dean noted that he was wearing the same ratty trench coat he’d seen Cas in during lunch. Though Dean didn’t understand why Cas would wear that thing, he hadn’t said anything then. It was the first chilly day of September, so it made sense to wear a jacket or sweater. But now, they were inside. Everyone else had peeled their coats and such off, but Cas made no move to remove his.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Our presentation’s today.”

“Yes. I know,” Cas whispered back.

Dean eyed the trench coat. “You wanna wear that in front of the whole class?”

“Why not?”

“It just looks . . . weird. Seriously, why’re you even wearin’ that thing? You tryin’ to be Sam Spade?”

“Who?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Cas burrowed into the trench coat. “I like it. It's comfortable.”

“Whatever.” When he studied Cas with an impartial eye, Dean had to admit that the coat did suit him in a strange way. No one else could’ve pulled it off, but the trench coat looked natural on Cas.

“Castiel, Dean,” Mr. Shurley called from behind his desk. Cas’s and Dean’s heads whipped around to face him. “You got somethin’ you wanna share with the rest of the class?”

All the other students giggled. Asshats. Dean felt heat rushing to his ears. “No, sir.”

“Is that so?” Dean gulped and nodded. “Well, then. In that case, you wouldn’t mind giving your presentation first, would you?”

“No, sir,” Dean mumbled. He and Cas stood up. Cas’s eyes shifted around the room nervously; it looked almost as if he was huddling into his coat.

Dean picked up the stack of papers lying on his desk and handed them to someone in the first row to pass around. “We’ve got handouts.”

Mr. Shurley wheeled his chair off to the side. Perfect. He and Cas proceeded behind the desk, and alarm dawned on Mr. Shurley’s face. Dean jumped onto the desk, turned to Cas, and declared, “O Captain! My Captain!”

Cas leapt up right on cue and faced him. “O Captain! My Captain!” For a split second, they stared directly at each other. It felt like everything else in the room was blotted out and he and Cas were alone. Dean felt a little dizzy. Cas had this dazzling smile on his face. Dean would’ve sworn that Cas couldn’t smile that big, and he couldn’t help but grin back. Like him, Cas struggled to hold in laughter.

Then of course some asshole had to ruin it.

Gordon snorted. “That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“It’s _Dead Poets Society_ , dickwad!” Dean shouted. Cas’s composure abruptly crumpled. For a second, Dean thought he was gonna cry, but instead he assumed his usual emotionless expression.

“Gay!” Gordon called back. Almost everyone else snickered. “Gay! Gay! Gay!”

Dean hopped off of the desk and stalked toward Gordon, fist at the ready. “I swear,” he hissed, “you fuckin’ dickweed, I’ll—”

Gordon smirked. “You’ll what?”

“Dean! Gordon!” Mr. Shurley yelped. He looked a little frazzled, as if he feared Dean and Gordon would turn on him. “Stop that this instant, or I will not hesitate to give you detention.”

Dean dropped his fist and mumbled, “Sorry.” He returned to the front of the classroom. Gordon’s smug grin continued to chase him.

He glanced up at Cas, who was still up on the desk. Cas blinked at Dean; then he realized he should come down. He tried to step off of the desk, but he wound up tripping over the hem of his trench coat. He tumbled onto the ground, hitting his head and sending Mr. Shurley’s papers flying across the room. Half of the class, the jackasses, laughed. Dean was about to ask him if he was all right, but then Cas stood up and rubbed at his temple. His mouth hung open in mortification. “I apologize, Mr. Shurley,” Cas said in a small voice. “I’ll clean it up.”

Cas moved to pick up the papers, but Mr. Shurley said, “Not now, Castiel. Get on with the presentation. You can do that after class.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Um, so yeah. Walt Whitman.”

Dean had been planning to discuss _Dead Poets Society_ and how it related to Whitman’s themes and transition into the meat of the presentation from there. However, he was so flustered that he jumped straight into a biography of the poet. He and Cas then alternated who spoke, reciting the information they’d gathered. Dean heard the tremor in Cas’s voice; no doubt his own matched it. At the end of the presentation, everyone dutifully clapped except for Gordon and Bela, who looked freakin’ _delighted_.

When the final bell rang, Cas waited in his seat until the room had emptied out, leaving no one but him, Dean, and Mr. Shurley.

“Dean,” Mr. Shurley said, “you can go now.”

“Nah. I’m gonna help Cas.” Cas was gonna be late for fencing, and it was his fault. He’d been the one who insisted on the “O Captain! My Captain!” scene.

Cas looked astonished. “You don’t have to, Dean.”

Dean bent down and grabbed the sheets of paper lying nearby. “I told you. I’m helping.”

Cas began to pick up bits of paper as well. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

By the time they’d reorganized Mr. Shurley’s papers, fencing was halfway over. Mr. Shurley gave them a polite smile as they left. Clearly, he hated them now, which was a shame because Dean loved English. He liked Mr. Shurley, too, even if the guy wore rumpled clothes and sported nicotine-stained fingers half the time. His absent-mindedness made class less intimidating. Well, until today, anyway.

He and Cas decided to skip fencing and hang out somewhere else until it was over. If Cas showed up too early to Mr. Novak’s classroom, he would be suspicious. Dean didn’t want to get Cas in trouble, but there really was no point in going to gym this late. Plus, if Dean went to the front of the school early, Sam might rat him out to Mom and Dad.

xxxxxxxxxx

It always seemed that a new project began when another one ended. Just yesterday, Castiel and Dean had turned in their essay and given a disastrous presentation (which had embarrassed Castiel so much that he’d even briefly considered skipping English this afternoon), and now Naomi Ingalls was assigning her European History students a project about one of Europe’s royal dynasties and its broader role in history. A presentation. With a partner.

At least he didn’t have to work on two projects at the same time. That was a blessing, Castiel supposed.

This time, Castiel knew, Mrs. Ingalls would match him up with someone. Hannah and Charlie were his only friends in here, and no doubt they wished to work with each other. Hannah’s hand shot up, and Castiel inwardly sighed as he surveyed his classmates. “Who do you think I will get?” he asked Charlie.

Charlie gave him a blank look. “What?”

“As my partner. I assume that you will pair up with Hannah.”

“You don’t want to be with us?” What could she possibly mean? “Look, there are an odd number of people in the class, right?” Was that so? Castiel had never noticed. “So that means—” Mrs. Ingalls called on Hannah, and Charlie abruptly stopped speaking.

“Can I be in a group with Charlie and Castiel?” Hannah inquired.

“I said you were to work in pairs, Ms. Goodwin.”

“I know,” she squeaked, “but won’t you need a group of three--?”

Something about Mrs. Ingalls’s smile chilled Castiel. “So we do. Fine.” A few students grunted in disappointment. “I shall expect more of your group since it has more people. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Ingalls.”

“Now. You shall have the Capetian dynasty.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Ingalls called on another student, and Hannah turned to Charlie and Castiel. “I hope that was all right?” she said shyly. “Castiel. I should’ve asked you if that was okay.”

“That was wonderful, Hannah,” Castiel answered, grinning. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

How could he explain what he meant? It would sound rather sappy. “I believed I would receive a random partner.”

Her expression grew sympathetic. “Oh, Castiel.”

Charlie placed an arm on his shoulder. “Nah. You’re stuck with us, kiddo.”

Being included—that was a novel phenomenon. He couldn’t help but feel a little resentment, though. If Dean had never invited him to eat lunch with his group, Castiel would be alone in this class, in all of his classes. Hannah and Charlie would not have cared one iota for him.

They would have excluded him.

Despite their behavior right now, in actuality they held no regard for him. They were a couple of followers, just like the rest of this damn school.—

For all he knew, they and their friends gossiped about him behind his back.

No, he shouldn’t grow too attached. He would only set himself up for disappointment and get hurt.

These were not his friends, no matter how much he wanted them to be.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mom had gone out of town again, this time to visit Johnson County Community College. She was due to return Friday afternoon. Until then, Dean held his breath. So far, so good. Dad hadn’t even been drinking.

He should’ve known it couldn’t last.

For dinner, Dad had thrown a frozen pizza into the oven. Every Winchester poured himself a glass of Coke, and Sam put the bottle back into the fridge. Dad had started drinking, Dean noticed. He had been off work today, and he’d probably decided to take advantage of the free day without Mom around. As they ate, Dad alternated between guzzling from his beer bottle and sipping his Coke. After dinner, Dean rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Sam was poised to leave the kitchen when Dad grabbed another beer from the fridge.

“What the hell, Sammy?” Dad yelled. Dean spun around in time to witness Dad push Sam against the wall and thrust a nearly empty two-liter bottle in his face. “What do you call this? You think two drops is worth keeping?”

Sam’s eyes widened in fear. “I . . . there was still some left. I didn’t want to waste it.”

Dad practically _snarled_. “You bein’ a smartass with me, boy?” He raised his hand and—

Dean dashed toward them and shoved Sammy behind him. “Don’t you _dare_ touch him,” he warned in a low voice.

Dad’s hand froze in the air. “You tellin’ me what to do, boy?” Dean straightened up to his full height and stared back at Dad as defiantly as he dared. Before Dean knew it, his nose was screaming in agony. He recoiled from the blow of Dad’s fist, and the back of his head slammed into the wall. Before Dean could regain his composure, Dad aimed another blow at his nose. Dean lost his balance and fell to the ground. Dad crouched down in front of him. This time, Dean was ready. He kicked at Dad’s ankle, and Dad tumbled to the floor. He bared his teeth at Dean and lunged toward him. Dean scrambled out of the way before Dad could reach him, and Dad rammed his head into the wall. He’d been rushing at high velocity, so the force of the impact knocked him unconscious.

It probably wouldn’t last long. They should take advantage of it while they could.

Dean got to his feet and told Sam, “Pack a bag.” Dad would only be worse when he woke up.

Sam darted out of the room, and Dean threw some clothes into his own duffel bag. He snatched up his bag and jogged back to the kitchen, where Sam was waiting. “Let’s go.”

They piled into the Impala, and Dean switched on the ignition. He thought about their options. “Where’re we going?” Sam asked quietly. It hurt to hear Sammy sound so frightened. “That park?”

“No,” Dean replied, remembering a better option. “Cas’s.” He didn’t want to bother Cas, and he wouldn’t if it was just him. But there was Sammy to consider.

“What? Why?”

Dean backed out of the driveway. “’Cause.” He clutched at his nose and steered with his left hand. _Damn_ , that hurt.

“What’re you gonna tell him?”

“What?” Dean mumbled distractedly. Oh, right. He should probably explain. He felt his face heat up. “He knows,” Dean murmured.

“Knows what?”

“About Dad.”

“What?” Sam gawked at him. “You told him?”

“Of course not,” Dean snapped. “It’s just.” Dean pulled to the curb beside Cas’s house. “He came over, and Dad was home when he wasn’t supposed to be. And—yeah. The usual.”

“Dean, we need to tell Mom.”

“ _No_.”

“Dean.”

“I said no! We’re all right, yeah?” Sam gave him a skeptical look. “We are.” He whispered, “I don’t want anything to happen to our family.” He clambered out of the car, refusing to hear whatever Sammy would say in response. They gathered their bags and strolled up to Cas’s door. He rang the bell, and a second later, Cas opened it.

“Dean?” His head swiveled to Sam. “Sam?” He turned back to Dean, and his eyes widened. “Come in. Your nose is bleeding.”

“Who’s that?” Mr. Novak shouted from the living room.

“Sam and Dean. Winchester,” Cas called back. “They’re staying the night.”

“On a Thursday? Their parents approve of that?”

“Yes.”

Cas guided them to his bedroom, and Dean and Sam sank onto the bed. Cas left the room and came back a moment later with an old green towel, which he pressed to Dean’s nose. “Hold that there.” Dean obeyed. Now that he sat still, the pain increased, reverberating up to the top of his forehead, like someone was drumming the cymbals of his brain. Cas squatted in front of him and squinted, studying his face. His gaze was a little too intense, and Dean squirmed under the scrutiny.

“Hmm,” Cas mused. “Your nose is squashed. I think it’s broken.”

“Nah.”

“Cas is right,” Sam inserted. He was agreeing with Cas? Surprising, considering his scornful attitude toward Cas so far.

“You should see a doctor tomorrow,” Cas declared.

“No,” Dean replied.

“Yes,” Sam countered. He and Cas fixed Dean with firm looks.

“Fine,” Dean sighed.

“How long do you need to stay here?” Cas asked. He sounded so kind, worried, and caring, and Dean felt guilty for springing this on him. Cas shouldn’t be worried about him.

“Mom’ll be back tomorrow,” Dean answered.

“All right.” Cas disappeared and returned a moment later with the air mattress; then he brought in some sheets and blankets.

“Sam can have the air mattress,” Dean stated.

“Okay. Where will you sleep?”

Dean shrugged. “Floor’s fine with me.”

“No. You can have my bed. We’ll change the sheets.”

“Cas, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

Dean argued with Cas, but he would not take no for an answer, so Dean eventually gave in. He and Sam helped Cas set up the air mattress and change the sheets. Afterward, all three of them were exhausted and decided to go to sleep. Luckily, they’d finished their homework earlier.

“Good night, Dean. Sam,” Cas slurred from his pallet on the floor.

“’Night, Cas. Sammy.”

Sam remained silent.


	6. Concealment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for child abuse.
> 
> Feedback is welcome! Thanks for reading! I appreciate every reader who decides to stop by. It spurs me to keep going. :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr under the same user name. That's where I'll post news about future updates.

Dean heard Cas’s alarm go off. He buried his face in the pillow, planting it in the middle of a wet spot. What the fuck? He opened his eyes to a small pool of blood.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

“Dean?” Cas mumbled, voice full of sleep. Dean put a hand to his nose and found it was bleeding. Why? It had stopped before he went to sleep.

Cas rolled off of his pallet, stumbled toward his desk, and turned off the alarm. Dean covered his nose with one hand, hoping Cas wouldn’t notice the bleeding.

Cas squinted at him. “Dean? Is your nose bleeding again?” Dammit. Cas approached him and pulled Dean’s hand away from his nose. “It is.” Cas’s eyes flicked to the blood on the pillow.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Dean said. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess.”

Cas’s eyes clouded up. “Don’t apologize for that.” He bent down and picked up the towel Dean had used the night before and thrown onto the floor. “Here,” he said as he handed it to Dean.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Sam rolled over and sat up. “Dean’s nose is bleeding again?”

“Yes,” Cas answered.

“It’ll quit soon,” Dean told them. Once the blood flow had been staunched, everything would be all right. “Guess we better get ready for school.”

“You’re going to the doctor, Dean, remember?” Sam reminded his brother.

“Nah,” Dean decided. “’S not necessary.” Sam scowled at him.

“You _are_ going to the doctor,” Cas interjected, voice low and dangerous, as if contradicting him could be deadly.

“I don’t—”

“You. Are. Going.”

“Fine.” How was he gonna pay for it, though? Just tell them to send Mom and Dad the bill?

Sam rode to school with Cas and Mr. Novak (which must’ve been hella awkward) while Dean drove to Dr. Simmons’s office. Rather than making an appointment, he decided to wait around until Dr. Simmons had a free moment.

Since his nose was bleeding intermittently, Dr. Simmons gave him several wads of gauze and told him to come back on Monday to have his nose reset. It was swelling too much for her to do it now, she explained.

Well, shit. Two doctors’ visits? That was gonna be expensive.

Dean didn’t get to school until lunchtime. He joined his friends and pressed fresh gauze to his nose, which had begun bleeding again after a brief respite.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jo asked.

Dean shrugged. “I was horsin’ around with Sam and tried to bum-rush him. He got out of the way, and yeah. I ran smack into a tree.”

“Ouch.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Cas give him a sharp look. He avoided his gaze. Dude had no right to judge him.

Andy and Benny burst into laughter. “Wow, Dean,” Andy said. “That’s just . . . ”

“It’s precious, is what it is,” Benny finished as a smile played on his lips.

Charlie ignored them and said, “You missed drama.”

Dean gestured at his nose. “I’ve got a fuckin’ good reason, no?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “You know we started reciting today, right?”

Shit. Dean had won the role of Patrick Verona in their production of _Ten Things I Hate About You_. Since the guy was a main character, it had probably been hard for the others to practice without him. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“Sure you could!” Charlie chastised. “Seriously, could you be any stupider? Why take such dumb risks? If you would just use your brain for five seconds—”

“Charlie,” Cas interrupted. His voice took on the same tone as this morning, one that compelled the listener to obey. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but—”

“ _Charlie_.”

Charlie threw her hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” Was Charlie actually intimidated by Cas? It seemed so, which boggled Dean’s mind.

Cas’s face assumed a pensive expression, and for a moment, Dean was afraid he would tell everyone else about Dad. But he said nothing, and Dean relaxed. The others resumed their chatter, but Dean tuned them out. Cas didn’t participate, either.

The rest of the day proceeded as usual, and when Dean and Sam got home, Mom and Dad were both there. Dad must’ve taken off early so he could meet Mom at home. Sam continued on into the living room and greeted them while Dean tossed a blood-filled strip of gauze into the trash. He pulled out fresh gauze from his supply. His nose had stopped bleeding, but he wanted to have it at the ready in case it started up again. When he walked into the living room, Mom gasped from her perch on the couch.

“Dean, what happened to your nose?” she asked.

Dean shrugged and attempted to sound blasé. “You know.”

“Another fight?” Dean neither confirmed nor denied it. His eyes darted to Sam, who shot him a disapproving look before sitting on the recliner and pointedly staring at the TV. “Oh, Dean,” Mom sighed.

Dad threw his arm around Mom’s shoulders and pressed his cheek to her temple. “How could you be so careless, Dean?” he groused. “Do you know how much that’s gonna cost us?”

 _Is he fucking kidding me?_ As if he wasn’t the one responsible for this shit. Maybe he really didn’t remember, though. Maybe he’d forgotten what he’d done when he was drunk. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmured.

“It’s all right, dear,” Mom replied. She frowned at Dad then continued, “I’m more worried about how much you’re getting hurt. Why all these fights?”

Dean shrugged again. “You know.”

“No, I don’t know. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

_No, I can’t, especially with Dad leaning into you like that. You look so fuckin’ perfect together, natural, and I love you, I love us, the Winchesters, together. That’s how we belong. I’m not gonna ruin that just ’cause Dad likes to drink once in a while._

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean snapped. “God, just leave me alone, would ya? Didn’t people fight when you were in school?”

“Dean—”

“Fuck off, Mom!” Dean yelled viciously. He ran to his room, threw his backpack against the wall, and collapsed on the bed. Dammit, that would hurt Mom. He regretted it, but it’d been necessary. He couldn’t have her being too concerned and nosy. He couldn’t have her eventually guessing the truth.

The truth would ruin them all.

So, yeah. Better to have her think he was a jackass instead.

Now that he was finally alone, he let the tears fall.

xxxxxxxxxx

When they stepped inside the house, Father crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face Castiel. “You let those Winchester boys stay here last night,” Father intoned. “Without my permission. Don’t you know the fifth commandment? Honor thy father and thy mother? Yet you dishonor me by thinking you can do whatever you want without consulting me first.”

Castiel tried to keep his gaze steady. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Father scoffed. “Or you wouldn’t have done it again. Apparently your punishment didn’t take.”

Father left the kitchen, no doubt to retrieve the switch. Castiel had known this would come, the punishment, but it was worth it. Better that than allow Dean and his brother to stay alone with a potentially murderous drunk.

He might as well prepare himself. He unbuttoned his pants and let them sink to his ankles; then he allowed his boxers to fall. Loud footsteps approached, and—

“What are you doing?” Father hissed. Castiel flinched at the venom in his voice.

“You are punishing me, are you not?”

“Are you being smart with me, boy?”

“No, sir.”

He could feel Father mere inches behind him now. “You think you can anticipate everything I do?” Father spat. “Disgraceful.” Father yanked his boxers up to his waist, and Castiel yelped at the feel of Father’s rough hands on his skin. “Put your damn pants on.”

“Yes, sir.” So far, Castiel had been able to hide his fear, but now he heard a slight tremor in his voice. His hands shook as he pulled his jeans back on.

“Good. Now. For your impudence, both today and last night, you shall receive fifteen lashes. On your back. Show it to me.”

Castiel took a deep breath as he drew up his shirt. The blows would sting more on his back, and Father knew it.

He bent over the chair he stood next to, and Father struck him. This time, he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing when he felt the wounds opening up. He didn’t know if he imagined it or not, but he could’ve sworn he heard Father chuckle to himself. Everything was so fuzzy. With both hands, he tightly gripped the top of the chair.

xxxxxxxxx

After school on Monday, Father dropped Castiel off at Hannah’s house. He, Hannah, and Charlie would meet there every day this week to work on their project. The first fencing tournament of the season was this weekend, so Castiel would be unavailable then. When Castiel had told them about the situation, Charlie had seemed more disappointed about not having a movie night with Castiel than anything else.

They settled at the kitchen table and spread out the work they’d done so far. Castiel winced when he leaned back against the chair’s wooden slats. Luckily, neither Hannah nor Charlie seemed to notice. Hannah popped something in the microwave and poured everyone a glass of water. “No orange soda?” Charlie said.

“You know we only have water in the house,” Hannah replied.

“But you know how much I love orange soda. Who loves orange soda? I do, I do, I _do—oo_.” The girls burst into a fit of giggles. Castiel had no idea what was going on.

The microwave beeped, and Hannah retrieved the food. Charlie turned to him with a wide grin. “You’ve never heard that?”

“No.”

“You’ve never seen _Kenan and Kel_?”

“No. What is--?”

“Oh, my God, Cas, you’ve never seen _Kenan and Kel_?!” Hannah exclaimed. He’d never heard her speak so loudly before.

“What is--?”

“It’s a show,” Charlie said. “On Nickelodeon?”

“Nickelodeon.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Nickelodeon.” Castiel shook his head. “Oh, my God. It’s this channel on TV. You do own a TV, don’t you?”

“We have one, yes. But I don’t watch much of it.”

“Well. We’ve gotta show you Nickelodeon sometime.”

Hannah brought over three plates filled with something called Bagel Bites. Castiel took a bite and immediately fell in love with the gooey cheese.

Hannah tapped her notebook. “I guess we should get started.”

“Do we _have_ to?” Charlie whined.

“Yes, we do. Unless you wanna fail.”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, then.” She indicated her printouts. “Here’s my research so far.” Charlie had a similarly sized stack of papers, while Castiel had acquired a few books. “Hmm. I wonder if we’re supposed to talk about the cadet branches? You know, the House of Valois and the Bourbons.”

“I asked Mrs. Ingalls about it,” Castiel informed the other two. “She said we did.”

Hannah groaned. “That’s like almost 900 years. I could almost swear she hates us.”

“I think she does,” Charlie said. Castiel and Hannah gaped at her. “I’m serious. You remember Caroline Vosovic? Last year’s valedictorian?” Her audience nodded. “Mrs. Ingalls hated her.”

“How do you know that?” Castiel asked.

“I’ve heard stories. Like, just about the way she talked to Caroline and stuff. How she graded her more harshly than everyone else. I think it’s because she knew Caroline was smarter than her.” Charlie smiled smugly. “And you know who else is smarter than her? Us. And I think she’s threatened by that.”

“Maybe you and Castiel are—”

“No, Hannah, you are, too. We’ve got the highest grades in the class, don’t we?” Castiel and Hannah nodded. “Well, then. There you have it.”

Perhaps that wasn’t far-fetched, Castiel reflected. He didn’t know much about Mrs. Ingalls, but he could imagine Father behaving like that. Nevertheless, they still had a project to work on. “How are we going to adequately cover 900 years of history in our time frame?” he inquired.

Charlie sighed. “I dunno. She’s set us up to fail, dammit.”

Hannah grinned. “You said we were smart, right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes,” Castiel concurred.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean’s nose had been reset two days ago, but it still felt tender when he touched it. Sometimes the pain would shoot into his head, and everything around him would dissolve.

So he ate only soft foods, such as mashed potatoes. He ignored the meatloaf on his plate, and everyone else raised their eyebrows. Yeah, he’d never turned down meat before, but it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal, was it?

“How was your day, hon?” Mom asked Dad after she swallowed a bite of meatloaf.

“I told you about how I was probably gettin’ a raise with my promotion, right?” Mom nodded. “Well. Now it’s official.”

“Congratulations!” A few minutes elapsed before she next spoke. “Sam, Dean, how about you guys?”

Sam had been bouncing with enthusiasm all day. Last week, he’d tried out for the JV soccer team. Today, he’d found out that he’d made it. Dean was proud of him, and he was glad it gave Sam something to do after school three days a week. Then he wouldn’t be sitting around in front of the school. (Or hanging out with Ruby.)

“I made the JV soccer team!” Sam announced.

“That’s great, Sam!” Mom exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

Dad reached over and ruffled his hair. “Yep. Congratulations, kiddo.” He grinned at Sam affectionately. “I’m proud of ya.”

The other three exchanged giddy smiles, and Dean’s stomach jittered. Dad had _never_ looked at Dean like that. _I’m proud of ya._ He’d never heard Dad direct those words at him. Only Sam, who’d excelled in Little League and soccer. He’d dropped the baseball, but he was destined to be a high school soccer star.

Only Sam, who _always_ got all A’s and won spelling bees and scored winning goals.

Dean was happy for Sam. Really, he was.

But why couldn’t he ever be as good as his little brother? Why couldn’t Dad ever look at him without disappointment?

He smiled with the rest of them.

xxxxxxxxxx

In his hotel room, Castiel sank onto the bed, stretched, and closed his eyes. Today had been exhausting, but he’d loved every minute. He’d missed tournaments.

Like everyone else on the fencing team, his roommate, George, had headed over to Vince’s room. He would probably stumble in at two in the morning, drunk. Maybe vomit on the floor.

That was the only thing he hated about these out-of-town tournaments. Partying. Parties were always too loud. Chaotic. They made him anxious. Everyone expected him to avoid the parties, which was just as well. He’d gone once, as a sophomore, and then been subjected to everyone’s ridicule.

He preferred this, anyway. Lying here. Relaxing. Thinking.

A knock startled him out of his reverie. Who could that be? He stumbled toward the door and glanced through the peephole. _Anna_? He opened the door.

“Hello, Castiel,” Anna said. “Can I come in?”

Castiel stepped out of her way, and she strolled past him. She settled on George’s bed, and Castiel sat cross-legged on his bed. “I thought you would be at the party,” Castiel remarked.

Anna flashed a small smile and shook her head. A strand of red hair fell over her cheek, and for the first time, Castiel realized that she was very pretty. He wasn’t attracted to her, but he could appreciate her beauty.

“Nah,” Anna muttered. “I didn’t wanna go.”

“What?” Anna attended almost as many parties as Lilith’s crowd. “I thought you liked parties.”

“I _pretend_ to like parties.”

Castiel gawked at her. “What?” Surely he couldn’t have heard her right.

Anna sighed, and Castiel noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m just so tired of it, y’know?” She paused then added, “I thought I’d come talk to you instead.”

“O—okay.”

“So tell me. How did you become friends with Dean Winchester?”

“What?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “C’mon, there’s gotta be a story there. No friends for at least three years then—boom!—Dean and his crew.”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s not really much of a story. We met, and he invited me to eat lunch with him.”

“That was all?”

“Yes.” Though that wasn’t all, of course. But she didn’t need to know about the initial days of agonizing suspicion, the ways in which he’d tested Dean until he was satisfied of his sincerity.

“Hmph.” Anna rubbed her eyes. “You wanna know something?”

“Okay.”

“When we were freshmen, I had the biggest crush on you.”                                    

“What?!” She must be teasing him.

“It’s true. I would try to talk to you, but you always brushed me off.”

“I did?!” Castiel did not remember this. Then he recalled something Dean had said. Something about how he could be rude.

Perhaps Castiel _had_ been rude to Anna. Perhaps he had been rude to many people without knowing it. Perhaps that was why no one had ever liked him.

But how was he supposed to stop it if he didn’t understand what made him seem rude?

Anna laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, you did.” Was she wiping away a _tear_? “And I just. I wondered what Dean had that I didn’t. Why you would talk to him but not give me the time of day.”

He was confused. He never would’ve thought that Anna felt that way. “Anna, do you want to know something?”

“What?”

He tilted his head as he regarded her. “I always thought you hated me.”

“Really?! Hmm. Maybe I did for a while,” she admitted, “but only because I thought you hated me.”

“What? I never—”

“Because you always ignored me. But I think I understand now.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was talking to Hannah about it. It wasn’t malicious. It’s just—you’re socially clueless.” She reddened. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t a nice way to put it.—”

“No. You’re right.” Why sugarcoat matters? He _was_ socially clueless. He didn’t comprehend why people did many things, and people’s remarks often went over his head.

Anna looked relieved. “Now that’s out of the way. Friends?”

“What?”

Anna rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. “Can we be friends?”

Anna wanted to be friends? He didn’t understand. Maybe he had never understood her at all. “All right.”

They shook hands on it.


	7. Campers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a little bit of underage drinking.
> 
> Feedback is welcome and makes me happy! :) Thanks for stopping by and reading! I appreciate it very much!

Dean had been waiting all day for lunchtime. He wanted to know how Cas had done at the fencing tournament. He joined the group, pulled out a ham and cheese sandwich, and turned to Cas. “How’d the tournament go?”

Cas answered, “I . . . I won the boys’ sabre.” He smiled self-consciously.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s great! Look at you, comeback kid.” Cas blinked at him, clueless. “You know. After your defeat at the state tournament last year or whatever—”

“I should’ve won.”

“You said they gave the other dude a touch when they shouldn’t have, right?” Cas nodded. “I don’t understand. Um. I was readin’ up on it, and don’t they use electric machines to determine when a touch is made?”

“Usually, yes. But they malfunctioned during the state championship last year.”

“That sucks, man.”

Dean finished his sandwich while everyone else chattered around him. As he swallowed his last bite, he remembered something he wanted to bring up. He cleared his throat. “Hey, guys?”

Everyone shut up, and Jo said, “Yeah, Dean?”

“Y’know what I’ve been thinkin’?”

“What?”

“We should go camping sometime. Maybe this weekend.”

“I’d totally be up for that!”

“Camping, like, in tents?” Charlie asked.

“No, in barrels,” Dean joked. “Of course in tents. What else?”

“You know there’s such a thing as cabins.”

“Not the same.”

“But we’d be laying on the ground—”

“If that bothers you, you don’t have to come.”

“Of course I’m coming!”

“I love campin’, brotha,” Benny put in.

No one said anything for a minute, and Dean finally inquired, “What about the rest of you?”

“I’ve got a party to go to,” Andy replied.

“Can I invite Anna?” Hannah asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“I don’t like camping,” Garth said in a low voice. “All those bugs and ugh.” Seriously? When had Garth become so prissy?

“What about you, Cas?”

Cas chewed his lip as he mulled the idea over. “I would like . . . no. I don’t think Father would allow it.”

Dean heard the initial eagerness in his voice, then the disappointment. “But you do wanna come?”

“Yes. I like the idea, but I can’t.”

“Hey, maybe you could come on one of those weekends you visit your brother? Your old man doesn’t hafta know.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to visit him.”

“It’d be just this once. Pleeeeaaaase?”

“Oh, my God, Dean, are you two?” Jo huffed.

“Hmm,” Cas murmured. “Okay. I shall ask Gabriel about it.”

“Awesome.”

xxxxxxxxxx

In the middle of the week, Dean and Castiel finally received their grades on the English project. They’d gotten a C on the presentation. Mr. Shurley had noted that they hadn’t failed only because their presentation had contained excellent information.

On the paper, they received a ninety-five percent. The few points they’d lost came from the parts Castiel had composed, and all of Mr. Shurley’s positive comments were next to sections Dean had written.

Great. Castiel tried not to let his anxiety show. This C would sorely affect his grade. It wouldn’t be that bad if he earned A’s on everything else, but he hadn’t so far. They were almost halfway through the semester, and they had taken four tests. Castiel had gotten A’s on two of them and B’s on the other two.

Those grades might be fine for the average person, but not for him. If he wound up with anything but an A in this class, he could forget being valedictorian.

But his grade wasn’t doomed yet. He would make an A on the next test, he resolved.

xxxxxxxxxx

Friday afternoon, Dean and Cas went to Target to shop for camping supplies. A smile played on Dean’s lips. He hadn’t been this excited in a while. Cas’s brother Gabriel had (enthusiastically, Cas had said, rolling his eyes) given up one of his weekends so Cas could come. Cas then had had to convince his dad to let him begin his visit to Gabriel after school on Friday. In exchange, his dad had insisted that Cas be home before noon on Sunday. Gabriel would come pick him up from the camping grounds since Dean and the others wouldn’t leave until later.

“Hey, we’ve gotta get you a sleeping bag,” Dean declared as he tossed a box of foil into their cart.

Cas flushed. “I don’t have any money.”

“Then what’re you gonna do, just sleep on the ground?”

Cas avoided his eyes. “I think that would be best. Gabriel gave me some money, but—”

“So you _do_ have money.”

“It’s not mine,” Cas insisted.

“Dude gave it to you.”

“Yes, but. I don’t want to be wasteful. Gabriel has so little money already and—”

“Shut your piehole, Cas. Obviously, he wanted you to use it or he wouldn’t have given it to you.”

Before Cas could protest, Dean dragged him by the elbow to the camping gear aisle. “Which one do you like?” Dean asked.

Cas pointed at a sleeping bag decorated with crap from _The Little Mermaid_. “That one’s the cheapest.”

Dean snorted. “That’s for six-year-old girls, Cas. Besides, you wouldn’t fit in there. Pick another one.” Cas just stared ahead, folding his arms over his chest. Dean sighed. “Fine.” He picked up a dark blue sleeping bag. “How ’bout this one? It’s not that expensive, and Coleman’s a decent brand.” Cas shrugged, and Dean threw it in the cart.

Dean found Cas a pillow to go with his sleeping bag; then they headed toward the front of the store. On their way, he spotted Kevin studying earbuds. Sam had gone home with Kevin after school, and Dean thought he might go bug the little shit for a minute. But he didn’t see Sam anywhere. “Hey, Kevin,” Dean said.

Kevin flinched and turned around to face them. “Hi, Dean.” His eyes flicked to Cas. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Castiel.”

“You’re a friend of Dean’s?”

Castiel hesitated for a second before answering, “Yes.” What did that mean? Did Cas think they weren’t friends? He’d thought that’d been pretty well-established.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked.

Kevin gazed back at him blankly. “Sam?”

“Yeah. Didn’t he go home with you?”

Kevin frowned. “No. I haven’t seen him since fifth hour.”

“Oh.” Dean forced a laugh and attempted to look nonchalant. “I guess I must’ve gotten confused.”

“Yeah.”

Dean wheeled the cart away and called, “Have a good weekend, squirt!”

“Ha, ha.”

Dean knew. He _knew_ , dammit. Sam was with that bitch Ruby. Fully aware that Dean disliked her, Sam had told him nothing about who he was really hanging out with. But—

Wait a minute. Regardless of Dean’s feelings on the matter, Sam wouldn’t have minded telling him he was seeing Ruby. When he’d had other friends Dean had disapproved of, he’d never hidden spending time with them.

If Sam was concealing things, then he and Ruby were probably up to no good.

He felt sick to his stomach. How was he supposed to enjoy the camping trip knowing that Sammy was lying? That his Sammy, little innocent Sammy, was being corrupted by Lilith DeVille’s sister? What if something happened to him?

Sam would be all right, he told himself when they reached the checkout lane. When he got home on Sunday, he would dig the truth out of his brother.

xxxxxxxxxx

After their shopping expedition, Dean picked up Charlie and Hannah from Charlie’s house. Benny and Jo were meeting them at the camping ground, Dean explained. Dean had bought half of the supplies, and Benny was bringing the other half in his Jeep.

When they arrived at Seraph Falls State Park, they picked out a suitable lot then lugged the necessary items out of Dean’s and Benny’s vehicles. They’d brought two tents, one for the boys and one for the girls. Castiel didn’t know how to pitch a tent, so Benny and Dean set theirs up without him. He felt so useless standing around by himself, but Hannah joined him a minute later. Apparently, she was clueless about tents as well, so Charlie and Jo had decided to set theirs up without her.

“Hello,” Castiel said to her.

“Hi,” she replied a little nervously.

“How are you?”

“I’m—I’m good. You?”

“I am well, thank you.” An awkward silence settled between them, and eventually Castiel could no longer bear it. “I thought you were inviting Anna.”

“I did. But she’s mad at me right now.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“We got in a fight.”

“What about?”

Hannah sighed. “Do you know that Scottish boy? Crowley?”

“No.”

“Fergus Crowley?”

“No. I’ve never heard the name.”

“Well. Anna has a crush on him, but he’s been off the market, y’see. He’s been dating Cecily.”

“Oh.” Cecily was one of Lilith’s cronies.

“Yeah. But they broke up last week, and now Anna has her sights set on him. For the past few weeks, she’s been going on and on about how sick she is of parties, but she wouldn’t come camping because Nick was having one this weekend. She just _had_ to be there, you see, because Crowley would be there.”

“If she hates parties so much, why does she attend them?”

Hannah shrugged. “It’s what you do to be popular. She doesn’t actually like being popular, but she doesn’t want to, y’know, be unpopular. She was giving up parties, but now she has to go to them since Crowley will be there.”

“Oh.”

“Just be glad you don’t know him. He’s a jackass. I told Anna that she was too good for him, and now she won’t talk to me.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel empathized.

“Hey, you two,” Dean yelled from the boys’ tent. “Instead of standin’ around gossipin’, why don’t you gather some firewood or somethin’?”

Glad to have been assigned a task, Castiel rushed off to find some branches. Hannah followed him, and they silently filled their arms with wood before returning to the clearing.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The sun had set a while ago, and Benny’s electric lantern illuminated the area around them. The fire was going strong, casting shadows on everyone’s faces. They were perched on logs, surrounding the campfire. Only Benny was missing. Dean used a stick to retrieve the last foil pack and shove it toward Cas. “Hold out your plate,” Dean told him. “It’s hot.” Cas obeyed, and Dean precariously balanced the pack between two sticks then dropped it on Cas’s plate. “Open it slowly.”

“Okay,” Cas murmured. He gingerly prodded at the foil with his fork and poked holes before tearing the packet open.

“I’ve got the booze,” Benny announced as he carried a cooler toward them. “Andy’s finest,” he gibed. He settled it between his and Dean’s seats, opened it, and grabbed five beers. “Drink up, people,” he laughed. He handed one to Dean, kept one, and passed the other three to his right. When the last one reached Cas, he tried to give it to Dean.

“No, that’s yours, Cas,” Dean said.

Cas frowned. “I don’t want it.”

Trust Cas to be Mr. Squeaky Clean. Dean chuckled. “Have you ever even had alcohol?” Cas shook his head. Dean’s lips quirked into a smile. “Just try it.”

Cas studied the can dubiously. “We’re underage.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon.”

Cas surveyed the others. Charlie, Jo, and Benny had already begun drinking their beers, and now they were engaged in a spirited conversation. “Hannah’s not drinking,” he observed.

On the other side of Cas, Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t drink,” she said sharply before joining the others’ discussion.

Dean leaned in and whispered in Cas’s ear. “Hannah’s uncle was an alcoholic. He got in an accident, like, five years ago on the way home from a bar. He ran into another car. Killed himself and two kids in the other car.”

Cas gaped at him. “Oh, my God.” Dean noticed that the fire’s shadow covered the left half of Cas’s face, making one of his brilliant blue eyes stand out all the more. Who knew eyes could be so blue?

“So. She’s got a good excuse.”

“You expect me to drink this after hearing that?”

Good point. Damn. And Dad, too. Thinking about what Dad did when he drank, Dean suddenly found that the beer tasted sour in his mouth. Still, there was no harm in drinking just a little bit. He would never guzzle alcohol like Dad. “I just sip it slowly, like,” Dean confided. “To fit in, y’know.” Dean shrugged. “Go with the flow. Relax. It takes the edge off.”

“Hmm.”

Dean took a small sip to illustrate. “Just take it slow, okay?”

“Okay.” Cas still appeared uncertain, but he popped open the tab, sipped, then made a face. “Is this supposed to taste good?”

“Nah,” Dean chortled.

Cas furrowed his brow. “Then what is the point?”

“Um. It’s just what people do?”

Cas snorted. “Such logical reasoning.” Yet he took another sip.

“You get used to it.”

“Dean! Cas!” Benny boomed. “Stop whisperin’ sweet nothings in each other’s ears and join the party, hmm?”

Flushing in the half-light, Cas cast his eyes downward. Dean was so embarrassed that he couldn’t make his voice cooperate.

“Who’s up for a round of Never Have I Ever?” Charlie suggested.

“What is that?” Cas inquired.

“A drinking game,” Dean answered. “And no.”

“We don’t have the hard stuff anyway,” Benny pointed out. “It ain’t fun without shots.”

“So how about truth or dare?” Charlie amended.

Dean snorted. “Do we _wanna_ be teen clichés?”

“Fine. You got a better idea?”

Jo shone her flashlight at her face, highlighting her wicked grin. “How about we go with the tried and true camping tradition of telling scary stories?”

“Like a bunch of ten-year-olds?”

“I got a story,” Benny said. “Can I go first?”

“Sure,” Jo replied.

“Once upon a time there was a man who lived in Louisiana. We’ll call him Benny.” Jo snorted and rolled her eyes. “One day, he met a vampire pirate master, who turned him. The pirate master, or maker, forced Benny to join his pirate operation, which involved attacking people on their yachts.

“Benny lived on autopilot for a while, but then he fell in love with a woman he met on one of the yachts, some chick named Andrea. He told her his secret and ran off with her.

“Well, the vampire pirates were not too happy about that.”

“Vampirates!” Dean shouted.

“What’s that, brotha?”

“They’re vampirates.” Benny gave him a funny look. Dean grinned. “C’mon, you can’t tell me that ain’t awesome.”

“It is pretty awesome,” Benny acknowledged. “So like I said, the vampirates were pissed. They tracked Benny down in Louisiana. Benny had wanted to go home, see.

“So. The vampirates attacked Benny and Andrea. There was a bloodbath, and just as the maker bit into Andrea, one of the maker’s minions sliced Benny’s head off, and it rolled onto the ground.

“Benny woke up in some nightmarish place. Purgatory. He went toe to toe with the endless baddies who were there, other vampires, werewolves, and the like. When he wasn’t killin’ monsters, he was searchin’ for a way out of Purgatory. He’d do what it took to get outta there and avenge Andrea.

“After a coupla centuries, he came to the edge of Purgatory. There was, like, a force field blocking his way. He realized you can only pass through it if you’re human. Next time he met a witch, he tortured her until she gave him a recipe for a potion that would temporarily make him human.

“It worked. Benny spent the next dozen or so years on the seas looking for his old nest—the vampirates. He found them on an island near the state of Washington.

“He snuck into their headquarters. He discovered Andrea there, and he was stunned. He revealed himself to her when she was alone, and she agreed to help him. Turned out the vampirates had been forcing her to participate in their operation.

“So they killed the maker and a couple other bigwigs. The others would go their separate ways, Benny thought. He wanted to go back to his peaceful life in Louisiana with Andrea.

“Only she didn’t wanna go. She wanted them to take over the vampirate operation. Damn if Benny wasn’t tempted; he loved her more than any of us can imagine. But he also didn’t want to kill more people.

“He cut off her head. He had to do it for the greater good. Then in his rage, he slaughtered the other vampirates.

“He tried to live his life after that, but he couldn’t do it. So one day he found the entrance to Purgatory and slipped back in. Now he spends eternity there, fighting the monsters.”

No one said anything for a few minutes. They’d been too caught up in the story, and the ending had impacted them deeply. Dean rubbed at his eye, trying to get something out of it. Finally, he broke the silence. “That ain’t a scary story, man. That was fuckin’ depressing.”

“It was a good story, though,” Jo hastened to add. She wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Yeah. Very good,” Charlie muttered.

Dean finished his beer, threw it in the trash bag, and yawned. Suddenly, exhaustion slammed into him. He stretched then announced, “I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“What hay?” Cas asked, frowning. “Why would you hit hay?”

Dean chuckled. Seriously? Cas really must have been livin’ under a rock his whole life. “’S an expression. Means I’m goin’ to sleep.”

“Oh.” Cas tossed his beer can at the trash bag but missed. Dean picked it up and dropped it inside the bag. “I think I shall go to sleep as well.”

The others stayed up a little while longer, and Dean felt sorta lame turning in instead. But he really was tired, and he was kinda not in the mood to stay up. Concerns about Sam kept popping into his head. Plus, though he’d rather die than admit it to anyone, Benny’s story really had drenched him in melancholy.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel woke up, his teeth were chattering. A pink sunray peaked in through the tent flap.

He could feel body heat radiating onto him from his left side. He tilted his head a little and noticed that Dean had burrowed in close to him, and Benny had burrowed in close to Dean.

Dean’s eyes blinked open, and he groaned. “Cas? What time is it?”

Castiel was about to check his watch when Benny yelled, “Holy shit!” He scooted to the opposite side of the tent. “What the hell?”

Dean laughed, the sound rich and hearty. “It was cold.” He shivered. “Fuck, it’s still cold.” He shrugged. “We needed to get warm. I don’t mind.” He gave Benny a pointed look. “I’m secure in my sexuality.”

“Whatever,” Benny huffed. “I’ve gotta take a piss.” He stomped out of the tent.

Dean crawled out of his sleeping bag. “I wonder if the girls are up. I think we’re gonna start breakfast soon.”

“All right,” Castiel replied. “I’m going to take a walk.” He’d started to feel oppressed by the constant presence of people nearby. It was making him antsy. He needed to get away and clear his head.

“Okay.” They turned their backs to each other as they dressed. Castiel grabbed his trench coat and turned back around as he drew it on. Dean snorted when they were facing each other once again. “Seriously, Cas? That’s the sort of jacket you wear camping?” he scoffed as he zipped up his leather jacket.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Are leather jackets customary, then?”

“Smartass,” Dean murmured as Castiel ducked under the tent flap. Castiel grinned to himself as he chose a seldom trod path to follow into the forest. As he trudged deeper into the woods, his smile disappeared. He stopped beside a log that had fallen astride the trail and settled on it.

What was he doing here? Why had he accompanied the group on this camping trip? These people weren’t his friends, not really. They’d never liked him before. They endured his presence only because of Dean.

But why did Dean even care about him in the first place? He had no doubt that Dean was sincere, but he still didn’t understand. Sometimes he still thought it must all be a joke. He was accustomed to being ignored or scorned, and he couldn’t comprehend why Dean would wish to befriend him instead. He knew he was odd, that he was difficult to like. But Dean—he was so easy to like. And so different from Castiel, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he’d been invited merely out of politeness.

The wind flared up, and Castiel pulled his coat tighter around himself.

Occasionally, he thought he’d wake up to find that it was all a dream. He expected it, waited for it, but it never happened.

He liked this new state of affairs, having friends. They were all lovely people. But he was afraid to accept it, because he knew—he just knew—that when he fully accepted it, it would all disappear. Wasn’t that generally the way of things?

“Cas!” Dean called, disrupting his reverie. He spotted Dean jogging toward him. “What’re ya still doin’ here? Don’t ya want to eat?” Dean paused beside Castiel, panting.

“Oh,” Castiel muttered. “Is it time to eat already?”

“Dude, you’ve been gone like forever! Aren’t you hungry?” Castiel’s stomach growled as if on cue. “We’ve already eaten.”

“Oh.” Castiel stood up.

“C’mon. I made pancakes over the fire.”

That sounded interesting. He wanted to try cooking pancakes over the fire. “Can I make some, too?”

“’Course.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean didn’t know what had disrupted his sleep, but now he was wide awake. A pleasant exhaustion saturated his bones. Today had been awesome. They’d canoed, hiked, and roasted s’mores, all things Cas had never done before. Every time he tried something new, Cas would get this look of pure wonder on his face, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. God, Cas’s life had been so deprived, and introducing him to novel experiences made Dean feel warm inside.

Dean rolled over as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed that Benny was missing. He’d probably gone to take a piss. But as the minutes ticked by and Benny didn’t return, Dean grew worried.

“Cas?” Dean whispered. Cas snuffled in his sleep but didn’t otherwise respond. Dean raised his voice. “Cas?”

“Hmmm,” Cas moaned. “What is it, Dean?”

“Benny’s not here.”

“He probably went to the restroom,” Cas slurred.

“I don’t think so.” Goosebumps prickled Dean’s flesh. He shimmied out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his flashlight. “Come help me look for him.”

“It’s late,” Cas complained. “Go back to sleep.”

“Cas,” Dean warned.

“Deeeeeeeeeaan,” he whined.

“C’mon.”

“Fine,” Cas snapped. They slipped on their tennis shoes, and Dean shone the flashlight in front of them as they traversed the area, Cas yawning all the while. Dean was about to give up when he heard a suspicious sound. He rounded a large tree and observed a sliver of light a few hundred feet to the left. He followed it until he stumbled on—

“Oh, my God!” Dean exclaimed. Cas bumped into him from behind and apologized.

There Benny was, sitting on a log. And straddling his legs, mouth firmly planted on his, was none other than—

_Jo freakin’ Harvelle._

Benny and Jo jumped like fifty feet in the air and whipped their heads around to face him and Cas. “What’re you doin’ here?” Benny asked.

“What’re _you_ doin’ here?” Dean countered.

“What’s it look like?” Jo retorted.

Dean opened and closed his mouth several times. No doubt he looked like the world’s stupidest fish. “You—and you—”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Eloquent as always. Now do you mind givin’ us a little privacy?”

“Fine. Don’t do anythin’ stupid. Use protection.”

Benny and Jo flipped him off in such perfect synchronicity that Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. Cas and he stumbled back toward their tent, and he couldn’t stop laughing.

Until he could.

A gust of wind blew, and the hem of Cas’s T-shirt flew up, exposing the skin on his back just above the waist. Dean’s mirth abruptly ceased.

Cas glanced back at him. “Dean?” Dean gaped at him. “Dean, what is it?”

Had Dean just seen that? That red welt scored into Cas’s skin.

He kept walking and didn’t answer Cas. When they reached the tent, Dean decided to get to the bottom of the matter. He needed to know if he’d really seen what he’d thought he had. Benny would probably be occupied for a while (heh), so he would have plenty of time to do it.

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean demanded before Cas could lay back down.

“Why?”

“Just c’mere.”

“Fine. What is this about?”

When Cas was close enough, Dean spun him around and rolled up his shirt. With the hand on Cas’s shoulder, Dean felt Cas tense up as he shone the flashlight on his back.

No, it definitely hadn’t been Dean’s imagination. He saw the same red mark, but a few other scars crisscrossed the skin over Cas’s back as well. Dean gasped. He ran his fingers over the scars. “What the hell happened, Cas?”

Cas snatched himself out of Dean’s grasp and staggered away from him. “None of your damn business,” he said in a steely voice.

“Cas—”

“Shut up!”

Thoughts raced through Dean’s head, his mind attempting to snatch at some explanation. “Was it your dad?”

Cas stiffened, his eyes blazing. _Bullseye_. “It’s none of your business,” he repeated.

“Bullshit. You’re my friend, which makes it my damn business.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas breathed.

“Of course it fuckin’ matters!” Dean’s heart throbbed at the conviction in Cas’s utterance. “How long’s this been goin’ on?” Cas didn’t answer, but the bleak look in his eyes, the emerging tears, said everything. “All your life, huh?” Dean whispered. Cas merely gazed back at him, remaining still. “That’s child abuse, man. We should report him.”

“No.”

“Cas—”

“If you tell anyone,” Cas hissed through clenched teeth, “I will tell them about your father.”

“You wouldn’t.” But he looked so deadly serious that Dean knew he would. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Cas whispered. Dean could hear the tears in his voice, could see him attempting to maintain his composure.

Dean embraced him. “It’s okay,” he said into Cas’s ear. Good thing no one was watchin’ them, because if they were, Dean would never live down this touchy-feely crap.

The damn burst then. Cas buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, and Dean felt tears soak the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t care. Poor Cas. He’d been all alone for so long, dealing with that sick fuck of a dad.

When the well ran dry, Cas pulled back and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean. I did not wish to burden you with that.”

“Don’t apologize, dude.” Christ.

Now he finally got it, why Cas sometimes folded into himself as he did. Tried to make himself seem as small as possible.

It was that bastard’s fault. Zachariah fuckin’ Novak.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel and Dean didn’t sleep much after they’d discovered Benny engaged in a tryst with Jo. Castiel had made a fool of himself after Dean had deduced the truth about Father, breaking down into hysterical sobs. He didn’t know why he’d done it. He usually never discussed Father without maintaining an air of neutrality. No one needed to know anything about Father. No one cared about his actions. Castiel had learned that from Gabriel. When he’d been sixteen, Gabriel had confided in the school counselor about Father, and the counselor had told Father about it. The counselor and Father had become friends, and Father had punished Gabriel even more severely than usual.

Castiel and his brothers never talked about Father’s punishments. Michael believed in Father’s righteousness, and Gabriel—well, the topic triggered Castiel’s normally unflappable brother. Gabriel was such a carefree person, but mention Father and he would clam up. He simply refused to talk about him. Castiel discerned that Gabriel felt guilty for it, for leaving Castiel to manage with Father on his own, but he shouldn’t. Gabriel had endured worse, and he deserved his hard-fought-for peace.

So he wasn’t sure why he’d spilled the whole truth to Dean. Perhaps it had been the tender way Dean had traced the scars, so reminiscent of Mother before she abandoned them. Something no one had ever given him, an indication that he cared. Something that showed Dean could be trusted (even if that hadn’t been true of Mother).

He didn’t know why. He just knew that when he’d felt Dean’s fingers on his skin, his eyes had suddenly filled with moisture.

And how had Dean been able to guess things so easily? He was more observant than Castiel had realized.

For breakfast, the group had scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon. Just as they finished eating, Gabriel’s VW puttered into the clearing, and Gabriel rolled down the window. “Ready to go, Casti-elly?” he called.

Castiel reddened at the idiotic nickname. “Let me get my things,” he replied. He grabbed his duffel bag, sleeping bag, and pillow from the tent and threw them into Gabriel’s backseat. As he did so, he noticed that Gabriel had a passenger, Kali. Before he slid into the backseat, he turned back to his friends and proclaimed, “I had a wonderful time. Thank you for having me.”

“’Course, Cas,” Dean responded. “It wouldn’t have been fun without ya.” Castiel couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Bye, Cas,” the others shouted simultaneously.

“See you at school tomorrow,” Charlie added.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

After he shut the car door behind him, Kali turned around to face him and smiled. “I’m glad to finally meet you properly, Castiel,” she declared.

“As am I,” Castiel replied. Gabriel’s relationship with her must be serious; he could not recall Gabriel ever dating someone for this long. He was surprised but pleased.

“So, kiddo. How was it?” Gabriel inquired as he pulled onto the highway.

“I enjoyed it very much.” Castiel curled into himself, treasuring the feel of his trench coat. He leaned his head on the window and watched the world pass by, content.


	8. Not Just a Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a reference to drug use. A spoiler for Kate Chopin's _The Awakening_ also appears.
> 
> Real life is going to get busier in a few days, so I thought I'd go ahead and post this chapter. I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update, but I'm eager to get to the chapter after the next one, so we'll see.

Dean dropped Hannah and Charlie off at their places then arrived home at around five o’clock. He had just enough time to complete his homework and maybe get a decent amount of sleep. But first, he had something more important to do.

“Hi, Dean,” Mom called from the stove when he walked in the door. “How was it?”

“Awesome,” Dean replied. Despite the constant worries about Sam, he did enjoy the camping trip. There’d been a lotta memorable moments, like Benny’s story; the canoe tipping over and hurling him, Cas, and Charlie into the lake; Benny and Jo becoming an item.

And of course, he’d learned about Cas’s fuckin’ dad. He couldn’t get those damn scars out of his mind. He was glad Cas finally had someone to talk to about that shit.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

Dean tossed his junk into his bedroom then knocked on Sam’s bedroom door. “What?” Sam yelled.

“’S me, Sam. Can I come in?” Dean shouted back.

“Sure.”

Inside, Sam was sprawled out on his bed, pencil in hand and notebook and geometry book open in front of him. “How was your trip?” Sam asked.

“Good.” Dean nodded and smiled to himself. “Yeah, it was good. How about you, Sam? How was your weekend?”

“Pretty good.”

“What about Friday night with Kevin?”

“That was good, too.” Sam looked down at his notebook and jotted down a few things. “Can we talk later? I’ve gotta finish this.”

Dean sat on the edge of Sam’s bed, and Sam glanced up at him, clearly peeved. “What did y’all do?”

“Me and Kevin?”

“Yeah.”

“The usual. Played video games and stuff.”

“Bullshit.”

Sam appeared taken aback. “What?”

“I said bullshit, Sammy,” Dean repeated in a clipped tone. “You never went to Kevin’s on Friday.”

Sam glared at Dean. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the damn truth. Do you know who I saw at Target on Friday? Kevin. Do you know who wasn’t there with him? You.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. “So where the hell were you?”

“I was there,” Sam insisted. “I just . . . I was looking at the books.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ imbecile, Sammy?” Sam’s eyes darted around the room nervously. Dean picked at Sam’s red comforter. “Do you know what I think?” Sam’s eyes met his. “I think you were with Ruby.”

Sam took a minute to answer. When he did, his words came out in a whisper. “So what if I was?”

“Why’d you lie about it?”

“Because I know you don’t like her, and I didn’t wanna have a conversation like this one.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why’d you lie to Mom and Dad about it?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “’Cause you woulda found out from them. Duh.”

“Uh huh,” Dean mumbled skeptically. “Listen. I know you and that bitch are up to no good, and I’m gonna eventually get to the bottom of it. Y’hear me?”

“There’s nothing to get to the bottom of,” Sam whined. “Jeez. Fuck off.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and studied Sam’s expression. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.” He left, shutting Sam’s door behind him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean hid a yawn behind his hand. Damn, but he hated math. It never made any sense, especially this trig crap. Apparently the school system believed he needed to know this stuff, but when would he ever need to know about sines and cosines and all that shit?

What the hell was he writing down right now? Some formula with imaginary numbers. He still didn’t understand the point of imaginary numbers or where they came from.

At the end of the class, Mrs. Timmons passed back their tests from last week. Dean took one look at his grade and groaned. Sixty-two percent. A D-. He’d gotten D’s on most of the other tests, too. There’d been one C and one F; those probably balanced each other out.

What was he gonna do? If he got a D in here, he’d probably be kicked out of the National Honor Society. He was doing decently in his other classes, so he could probably get away with a C. But he wouldn’t get a C by making D’s on all the tests, even if he earned all the completion points.

He stuffed the test in his backpack and shuffled to English. He found his seat, and a minute later, Cas sat down beside him.

Then an idea occurred to him. Wasn’t Cas supposed to be one of the smartest kids in the school? He was in Calculus BC with Charlie, so he definitely knew his math. Dean needed someone to tutor him, but it couldn’t be Charlie. Charlie had attempted to help him out with Algebra II last year, but she’d lost her patience with him. She’d felt bad about it, but it was clear that she wasn’t cut out for tutoring people.

Dean opened his mouth, but then the bell rang, and class began. They’d just started a unit on modernist literature, and Mr. Shurley launched into a lecture on T.S. Eliot. Dean listened, rapt as he took notes. He loved _The Waste Land_ , its beauty, its depth, its impenetrability.

After English, as Cas and he strolled toward fencing, he remembered trig. “Hey, Cas?” Dean said.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Um . . . ” Suddenly, Dean felt bashful. Should he really ask Cas for help? He didn’t want Cas to think he was a dumbass. He didn’t know why that mattered; after all, Charlie was wicked smart, and he didn’t care what she thought of his intelligence. But it did matter, and Dean’s mind went blank.

Cas stopped midstride and turned to face Dean, expression concerned. “Dean, what is it?”

Dean paused beside him and took a deep breath. “Um, I have a D in trig. Not because I don’t study; I study my ass off. But I don’t understand it no matter how hard I try, and, yeah. I think I need some help. Would you mind?”

Cas’s lips formed one of those small smiles Dean had grown fond of, and his demeanor relaxed. “Oh, is that all? I would be happy to help.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Thanks, man.”

“You are welcome.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel suppressed a groan when Mr. Shurley passed him the test from last week. Eighty-three percent, a B-. This was his worst grade so far. How was that possible? He’d slaved through the readings, all of which had seemed rather inane.

He flipped through his test to see where he had missed points. He’d gotten most of the multiple choice questions right. In fact, he didn’t seem to have missed much of anything. Had Mr. Shurley recorded an erroneous grade?

But then he reached the last two pages, the essay part. He had earned barely any points in this section; the few he had received seemed to be pity points.

He didn’t comprehend it. The prompt had asked him to analyze the ending of Kate Chopin’s _The Awakening_ , and he had done exactly that. The main character, Edna Pontellier, had walked into the ocean. Edna’s suicide had shown how weary life can be, how we can grow tired of a routine existence. It was so much easier to give up and let death swallow you up, just as the ocean swallowed up Edna. If you didn’t fight back, just as Edna hadn’t, then that was your fate.

And Castiel had explained that.

Beside his essay, Mr. Shurley had written, _Dig deeper. Consider context. Why was Edna dissatisfied with her life?_

At this point, a B for the semester seemed all but inevitable. In order to get an A, no future test score could be below ninety-five percent. He’d worked so hard during the past three plus years, determined to be valedictorian. To earn a place at a prestigious university, maybe even a scholarship. That would make Father happy. If he saved Father money, Father might even be as proud of him as much as he was of Michael.

But more than that, this was his identity. He’d skipped a grade; he’d poured himself into his schoolwork. If he wasn’t valedictorian, he was just a freak with no special qualities.

Castiel glanced at Dean’s test. _Ninety-eight_ , it said. He’d never gotten anything below a ninety-five. Why did he always do so well?

The solution hit him full force. Why not ask Dean to help him out with English? Castiel had started tutoring Dean in trig, and Dean could return the favor. Then maybe, just maybe, he could end the semester with an A in English.

“Dean,” Castiel said at the end of class as they walked out of the classroom.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I do not completely understand literature. I think I need help, or I’ll get a B.”

Dean ceased walking and slapped Castiel on the shoulder. “And a B is _such_ a bad grade,” he gibed.

Castiel stopped beside Dean and removed Dean’s hand from his shoulder. “Perhaps a B is all right for most people, but I cannot be valedictorian with one on my transcript.”

In mock horror, Dean clapped a hand over his mouth. “Heavens, no!”

“Dean, I’m serious.” When the smirk didn’t leave Dean’s face, Castiel’s eyes watered. He rubbed at them before he could become a weepy mess. Why on earth was he reacting this way? He didn’t want Dean to think he cried every time he encountered an obstacle.

Dean’s grin disappeared, and his voice grew sober. “Sorry, Cas. ’Course I’ll help.”

Heartened, Castiel smiled. “Thank you.”

“Wanna come over tomorrow? Get started?”

Tomorrow was Saturday, and there was a fencing tournament. But the team would not need to travel out of town for this one. “I have a fencing tournament.”

“Oh.”

“But I can come over afterward,” Castiel added.

“Sounds good. We can study a little bit then head to Jo’s for movie night. Whaddaya say?”

“Okay.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean cracked open a can of Coke and took a long swig before raiding the kitchen for snacks. Cas would be over any minute now, and he’d probably be hungry since he’d been fencing since, like, 8:00 a.m. (Dean sure didn’t envy those early weekend mornings.) He settled on several bags of chips and a couple of Nutty Bars.

The house phone rang, tearing Dean out of his thoughts. He snatched the cordless phone off the wall and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Dean,” Kevin replied. “Is Sam home?”

“Sure.” Dean covered the mouthpiece and shouted, “Sammy! Phone!”

Sam bounded into the kitchen and asked, “Who is it?”

“Kevin.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped, and what the fuck? The dude was Sam’s best friend. Dean handed Sam the phone. “Hey, Kevin,” Sam said. Dean listened to Sam’s side of the conversation. “Yeah. Uh huh . . . Sorry, man. Can’t come. Maybe some other time? . . . Yeah, we’ll talk about it at school . . . Bye.” Sam placed the phone back on the console.

“What’d he want?” Dean asked.

“To hang out.”

“And you said no?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? You’re not doin’ anythin’ right now.”

“Ruby doesn’t like him.”

Dean almost choked on his sip of Coke. “What the hell, Sammy? You’re gonna ditch your best friend because some chick doesn’t like him?”

“She’s not just some chick. She’s _Ruby_ ,” Sam argued. He said her name as if she’d hung the goddamn moon. If someone else had said it like that, he woulda laughed. Fuck if the boy wasn’t smitten. Dean grew more concerned the longer this went on; he didn’t think things could end well.

A knock on the door disrupted the uneasy quiet, and Sam scurried to his room. Dean threw open the door and smiled. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas grinned back. “Hello, Dean.” Sweat shone on his forehead and caked his hair. “I apologize. I did not have time to shower.”

“’S fine. Come in.” Cas’s scent hit Dean as he strode past him. There was something comforting about it, though he couldn’t quite place what it was. And for some reason, Dean thought that his appearance, the obvious signs of exertion, suited him nicely.

“Wanna Coke?” Dean offered.

“That would be nice, thanks.” Dean obtained a cold can for Cas and handed it to him. Cas tilted his head back and guzzled about half of the can then swiped at his mouth with his wrist. “Sorry. I was thirsty.”

“’S all right. How’d the tournament go?”

“It’s not finished yet. That’s tomorrow.” Cas frowned. “I’m in second so far.”

“Not bad.”

“But I could do better. I made some stupid blunders.” With quiet intensity, he added, “There is no excuse for my poor performance.”

Poor performance? It sounded awesome to Dean. He didn’t think Cas should be so hard on himself, yet he was afraid to contradict him. There was something vaguely intimidating in the way he’d uttered those words.

“Should we get started?” Cas asked.

“Sure. Wanna carry some of the food?”

“Okay.” He and Cas lugged the snacks to Dean’s bedroom and shut the door. Dean tore open a bag of barbecue chips and shoved some into his mouth.

“So,” Dean said. “Where should we start?”

Cas pulled his English binder out of his backpack then set the bag on the floor. “Perhaps you could look at my essay on the last test and inform me what I did wrong?”

“Okay.” Cas handed over the test, and Dean flipped to the back. He read Cas’s analysis of how _The Awakening_ ends—or non-analysis, rather. Maybe the part about the ocean swallowing people up was kind of interesting (and not something Dean had thought of himself), but everything else . . . he’d known Cas was a literal guy, but seriously? Dean’s lips twitched as he suppressed the urge to giggle.

“What? Why are you laughing at me, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Really? That was your answer?”

On the desk chair, Cas crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “I do not see what is so amusing.”

“It’s just . . . you didn’t actually say anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Cas sighed. “I hate English. It doesn’t make any sense. Science and math, those have a clear logic to them. But English . . . it’s not logical, and it’s pointless.”

Dean sobered. Cas had just insulted his favorite subject. Not cool. “It’s not pointless,” Dean retorted. Cas looked skeptical. “Listen, you like history, right? That’s sorta like English.”

“But history is _real_. English isn’t. It’s just a bunch of stories. People impose meanings on them that are not found in the text.”

“But they _aren’t_ just a bunch of stories, Cas.” He glanced down at Cas’s test. “Mr. Shurley is right. You gotta consider context. _The Awakening_ was written in, like, 1899, right?” Cas nodded. “What was life like back then?”

“William McKinley was president. The labor and anarchist movements were strong in American society.”

“Right. What about for women?”

“Hmm. Well, they couldn’t vote.”

“What could they do in New Orleans?”

“Not much. The only socially acceptable thing was to get married and have children.”

“Exactly.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“I’m gettin’ there. So. Edna Pontellier is a wife and mom. But it’s not fulfilling to her. She needs something of her own, but she can’t get it, so she’d rather die.”

“Edna Pontellier is a terrible mother.”

“What?”

“She is cruel. She abandoned her children.”

Dean realized that Cas wasn’t referring to the book so much as his personal experience. How old had he been when his mom had left? Six? And she had left her kids alone with Mr. Novak. She had probably known what he was like, too.

“Times were different back then,” Dean mused. “Not all women are cut out to be moms, but in those days, they were forced to either be moms or else become outcasts. Especially in the South. These days, women can get married, have kids, and still have an identity outside of that. That’s all Edna wanted. Is that so unreasonable?”

“I suppose not.”

“So you see, that’s what the ending means. Kate Chopin was protesting society’s rules for women. Not having an identity of your own can kill your spirit.”

Cas wrinkled his forehead in thought then concluded, “Yes, I see your point. But how . . . how can I analyze things like that myself? I still don’t understand.”

“You just gotta think about it a little. When was the book written? Why did the author write it? Why did the author make the artistic choices they did? What were they trying to say? What deeper message can a reader get out of it? What symbols are in the book, and how are they used?”

“Symbols?”

“Things that stand for something else. You can’t have gone twelve years in English without learning about symbols.”

“I have heard of them. But I do not understand how to recognize them.”

“Some of them are obvious. Like a cross. Christianity, right? Or something to do with the Messiah.” Cas nodded. “You’ve just gotta look for things that keep poppin’ up in the book. Like, has this red rose appeared before? In what context? If we relate the situations to each other, what can we get from that?”

Cas scratched his temple. “This sounds complicated.”

“It’s not, really. It’s fun.” Cas gave him a dubious look. “It’s like solving a puzzle. Try it with our next book. We’ll talk about what you come up with.”

“Okay.” Cas still looked uncomfortable, but Dean could’ve sworn he saw a glint of eagerness in his friend’s eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

Monday was opening night for the school’s production of _Ten Things I Hate About You_. The drama group would perform it all week; then it would begin preparing for the next one, _The Producers_. Castiel was looking forward to hearing Dean sing.

But now he was here with his lunch group to watch Dean and Charlie in their roles as Patrick and Mandella, respectively.

Dean was a natural fit for Patrick, Castiel thought. He even wore his own leather jacket in the play. Both Patrick and Dean were much more than they seemed. Patrick had a gruff exterior, but he also had a good heart. Like Dean.

Castiel stared at the stage, engrossed in the play. He noted that Charlie did a wonderful job as the quirky Mandella, but he paid more attention to Dean. Someone attempted to push past him, and Castiel squeaked, much to his embarrassment. He shifted his focus to the mysterious person. Andy.

“Sorry,” Andy muttered. “Let me through?”

“Oh.” He had his legs completely stretched out in the space before him. He drew back his legs and apologized.

Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes passed before Andy returned. He only realized Andy was back when he smelled a sickeningly sweet odor. He moved his legs out of Andy’s way so he could resume his seat. Andy must have indulged in some narcotic, Castiel deduced.

When the play finished, the actors joined hands and bowed, and the audience responded with a standing ovation. When the actors exited the stage, everyone filtered out of the auditorium. Castiel and his friends filed out of the space as well and waited for Charlie and Dean in front of the school. When Charlie and Dean appeared, the others cheered, and Castiel joined in. The duo beamed, although Castiel detected a sliver of self-consciousness in Dean’s smile.

Garth ambushed Charlie and Dean with hugs, which they accepted with startled looks on their faces. “That. Was. Awesome!” Garth exclaimed.

As Benny drew an arm around her shoulder, Jo added, “Yeah. Y’all did a really good job.”

“Not bad for a chick-flick play, brothas,” Benny commented.

Charlie adopted an expression of mock indignation. “Who’re you callin’ ‘brotha’? Do I look like a ‘brotha’ to you?” Benny merely laughed in response.

“It was good,” Hannah concurred with the others.

No one said anything until Dean eventually turned to Castiel. “What about you, Cas? What did you think?”

“I found it enjoyable. You and Charlie performed well.”

“Damn straight.” Dean surveyed the area around them. “Hey, where’s Sammy?”

“Sam?” Benny repeated.

“Yeah. He said he would meet us here.”

“He didn’t sit with us.”

“I know. He said he was comin’ with some friends, and I told him I’d take him home . . . ” Dean’s eyes scanned their surroundings once again. “But I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he didn’t come,” Jo suggested.

Dean looked as if he was struggling with an internal debate. “Yeah. I guess he coulda changed his mind.”

“Who’s up for some celebratory pizza?” Garth asked. The others enthusiastically agreed with the proposition. Except Dean, Castiel noticed, whose response was lukewarm at best. Why wasn’t he excited?

_Of course. Sam._

Heart heavy, Castiel followed the group to the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sam won't be a jerk the whole time, but right now, with Ruby influencing him, he's developing an unfortunate attitude.
> 
> I wanted to do a part with Cas tutoring Dean, too, but it's been forever since I've done any math, so I didn't feel like I could pull it off. 
> 
> This story seems like it'll be a lot longer than I initially thought, so slow build means quite the slow build, lol. Dean and Cas are supposed to become an item about halfway through.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading, and I appreciate feedback! :) If it's of interest, I'm on tumblr under the same user name.


	9. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for underage smoking, a reference to underage drug use, and homophobic insults.
> 
> It'll probably be at least a week until I post the next chapter. I've been wanting to get to it for so long, and all I want to do is write it, but real life has to come first, lol. I hope I'll be able to find time to write it before my DCBB posting date, which is in early October. 
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, etc., are much appreciated, and thanks for reading!

The homecoming dance was this Friday night. Dean had wondered why homecoming would take place during the second half of October, so he’d asked Cas, who’d explained the reasoning. Most schools that held a homecoming had a football team, but Lawrence Magnet did not, so they had homecoming the day before the soccer team’s opening game. Apparently all the “cool” people went to the soccer games. Good thing Dean didn’t care either way for sports; otherwise, he’d have to deal with seeing Lilith, Bela, and their stupid clique all the time. Of course, he planned to attend the JV team’s games so he could watch Sammy, but Lilith and her friends probably wouldn’t go to those. Ruby might, though. Dammit. Dean would just have to deal.

“What do y’all think?” Dean asked his group at lunch on Monday. He chewed a bite of his sandwich as he continued, “Any of you wanna go?”

“Gross, Dean. Don’t you know any fuckin’ manners?” Jo responded.

Dean swallowed his food and replied, “Seriously, though. Thoughts?”

Jo batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion. “You askin’ me out, Winchester? How sweet.” She glanced at Benny. “But I think my boyfriend might have somethin’ to say about that.” Benny threw a playful glare at Dean.

“So, you guys’re officially an item now?”

“Hell yeah,” Benny replied. He smiled at Jo, and God, it looked so mushy. Dean would’ve made fun of him if he’d thought he could get away with it. Jo’s expression was just as sappy. “And no, I don’t wanna go to homecoming with you, brotha.”

Dean snorted. “I wasn’t askin’ for a date.”

“I’ve got somethin’ special planned for Jo.”

Jo looked at him in adoration, but her tone was arch as usual. “It better be good, Lafitte.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They laughed.

“What about the rest of you guys?” Dean inquired. “Y’know, whaddaya think of just goin’ as friends?”

“Sure, Winchester,” Charlie answered, voice teasing. “Why not?

“You can count me out,” Garth inserted. Dean nodded. Garth didn’t do school functions anymore, and Dean didn’t blame him.

“Who wants to go to the dance?” Andy remarked. “All that formalwear and ugh. I think I’ll just hit up the after parties.”

“Someone else better say yes,” Charlie griped. “I don’t want people to think I’m on a date with this sucker.” She gestured at Dean.

“Hey!” Dean protested. “I ain’t that bad.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you’re not my type.”

“I’ll come,” Hannah chimed in softly.

“Thank God!”

“Cas?” Dean prompted.

Cas deliberated for a minute then grinned. “Yes, Dean. I think I shall come.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Father had been glad to hear that Castiel planned to attend homecoming. All during high school, he had lobbied for Castiel to participate in more school activities. He lamented the fact that Castiel didn’t have a date, but he was glad that Castiel was going at the very least. He didn’t hesitate to criticize Castiel’s companions, though. He despised Charlie for her sexual orientation, and he believed Dean to be a thug, though why, Castiel did not know. Was it because of his ubiquitous leather jacket? If so, that didn’t seem fair. Father conceded that Hannah was all right, though he thought her mousiness made her rather pathetic. How could he believe something so appalling? Castiel wanted to point out how illogical his opinion was, but he held his tongue. He did not wish to anger Father if he could help it. Occasionally, he still experienced spasms of back pain.

During Wednesday night’s dinner at Angeli’s, Father informed Michael of Castiel’s homecoming plans. Michael raised his eyebrows and gaped at Castiel. “Well, baby brother,” he said. “Be careful. Homecoming can present many temptations.”

What temptations? Did he mean drugs and alcohol? Did he think Castiel was unaware that some of his peers indulged in those substances? Castiel knew he was naïve, but he wasn’t _that_ naïve.

Rather than voicing these thoughts to Michael, however, he nodded.

Michael smiled, and Castiel almost did a double take. He’d never seen such a carefree expression on Michael’s face. It wasn’t that Michael never smiled, but his smiles always seemed a bit forced. This one, on the other hand, appeared natural. Had Michael become a better actor, or was the smile genuine?

“And don’t be so serious, Castiel,” Michael continued. “Have some fun. It’s homecoming.”

“Don’t forget to be home by eleven,” Father reminded Castiel.

Michael eyed Father then urged, “Oh, come, Father. Everyone stays out late for homecoming. I think you can allow Castiel some leeway on the curfew.”

Father frowned, but eventually he nodded. “All right. Castiel, I expect you home by midnight. Not one minute later.”

“Yes, Father,” Castiel said. What had just happened? Why had Michael advocated for him?

xxxxxxxxxx

Though it was kinda last minute, Dean didn’t go shopping for a tux until Thursday night. He looked forward to spending time alone with Dad.

Then he discovered that Sam was coming, too.

Not that he minded. Actually, he welcomed the idea. What he _did_ have a problem with was Sam’s homecoming plans. Apparently, he and Ruby were going together.

As Dad drove his truck to the mall, Sam enthused about his upcoming date with Ruby. When he heard that Lilith was going to drive Ruby and Sam to the dance, Dean interrupted him. “No, Sammy. Lemme take ya.”

“What? No. Lilith already said she would do it,” Sam replied.

If Sam spent time around Lilith, there was no tellin’ what sort of trouble he might get into. “I don’t want you hangin’ out with that bitch.”

“Dean,” Dad warned.

“What?” Dean huffed.

“Watch your language.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Since when did Dad care about language? “You don’t know this chick, Dad. She’s bad news.”

“Sammy says she’s the most popular girl at school.”

“Exactly.”

“Leave your brother alone, Dean. At least he has a date.”

Dean felt heat rise to his cheeks. Of course Dad was disappointed he didn’t have a date. He’d seen the contempt in Dad’s eyes when Dean had explained he was goin’ stag with a few friends. He could practically hear him askin’, _Why aren’t you takin’ a girl, Dean-o_? _What’s wrong with you?_

Well, maybe he just felt like havin’ fun with his friends. Was anything wrong with that?

Whatever. If Dad was gonna let Sam ride with Lilith and Ruby, then Dean would just have to keep an eye on him once he got to the dance.

Dad pulled into the parking lot of the mall and snagged a spot near one of the main entrances. Dean and Sam followed him to a shop tucked away in a corner upstairs. Dad picked out a few tuxes for Dean and Sam to try on. After they chose the ones that fit them best, Dean, carried the rejects back to the racks. As he did so, he noticed that all of the ones Dad had selected for him were on clearance, which he didn’t mind, but Sam’s were regularly priced. He ran his thumb over the material and noted that Sam’s options were made of better stuff. That didn’t mean anything, Dean told himself. Those had just seemed like the best options for Sam, and Dean would look good in anything (heh).

“You better take good care of that suit, Dean,” Dad cautioned him as they lugged the bags to the truck. “You’re also wearin’ that to prom.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered.

They stopped at Chili’s for dinner. After they ordered, they munched on chips and queso while they waited for their food.

“So, Sammy,” Dad said. “How’re you likin’ the soccer team so far?”

Sam’s face lit up at the question, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. “It’s awesome!” Sam gushed. “We train really hard, but it’s worth it. Coach says I might get to start sometime this season. That’s practically unheard of for a freshman! He even thinks I might be good enough to make the varsity team next year. A lot of the best players are graduating, so they’re gonna have big shoes to fill.”

Dad grinned. “That’s great, Sammy. It’s good to have at least one athlete in the family.” Dad didn’t look at Dean, and he kept his tone upbeat. However, Dean still heard the rebuke in it. He felt a stab of regret and guilt. He wished he could make himself interested in sports. He could probably even be pretty good if he tried. But he just didn’t care. It seemed like too much hard work for somethin’ kinda pointless. Well, maybe not pointless, but it didn’t make him happy, not like acting. Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve tried harder to like sports.

Then he remembered Mom. Her advice to do what he loved, not what anyone else wanted him to do. Mom was proud of him. Even though Dad and Sam had not deigned to do so, Mom had come to watch one of his performances last week, and she’d complimented him afterward.

“When’s your first game?” Dad asked.

“Tuesday night,” Sam replied.

“Mary and I’ll be there. So will Dean.” Dad clapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean hoped Dad hadn’t felt his startled flinch. “Right?”

“’Course. Wouldn’t miss it,” Dean affirmed.

“I dunno how much the coach will let me play in the first game,” Sam informed them, “since I’m a freshman. He’ll probably give most of the playtime to sophomores. But maybe he’ll sub me in when someone gets tired.”

“We’re still comin’,” Dad averred.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

The waitress dropped off their food, and Dean dug into his burger.

“Hey,” Dean suddenly recalled, “I got a B on my math test last week.”

“Great job, Dean,” Dad replied. “You’ve been strugglin’ with math, haven’t you?”

“Yep. But since Cas has started tutorin’ me, things have begun to make more sense. I swear he’s a better teacher than Mrs. Timmons. More patient.”

“I’m glad that boy’s good for somethin’,” Dad groused. “Seriously, sometimes he gives me the willies. He stares a lot, and it’s kinda creepy.”

Dad and Dean exchanged a look, and Dean understood that they were both thinking about the same thing. The afternoon when Cas had come home with Dean and seen Dad drunk. Cas knowin’ his dirty secret. Dad _was_ right; Cas’s gaze could be intense, but they both knew that it played little role in why Dad disliked him.

“It is a little weird,” Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t care. Cas’s a good guy, and that’s what matters, right?”

“Sure,” Dad concurred with a smile.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean and Castiel met Hannah and Charlie at a diner. It was amusing to patronize such an establishment while dressed in formalwear. Castiel squinted at Charlie’s bright orange dress, which suited her personality. Hannah’s dress, pale green, matched her characteristic subdued manner. The other customers threw strange looks at them, but the middle-aged waitress merely raised her eyebrows as she took their orders and popped her gum. When their food arrived, Castiel frowned at his wilted salad.

“What were you expectin’ at a place like this, Cas?” Dean laughed. “That’s what you get for orderin’ rabbit food. Shoulda stuck with the manly choices.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Because consuming a burger is what defines a man.”

“Damn straight.” Dean bit into his burger, and Castiel stared for a minute, mesmerized by the mayonnaise and ketchup dribbling down his chin. Then he remembered that staring was considered rude and turned away.

“Careful, Dean,” Charlie warned. “Wouldn’t wanna get that on your brand new tux.”

Almost choking, Dean fumbled with his burger. “Dammit, Charlie. Stop tryin’ to jinx me.” Dean took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Wanna try it, Cas?”

“Are you serious?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah.” He held the burger out to Castiel, who accepted it. Castiel tentatively bit into the side Dean had left untouched. It _was_ delicious, much better than anything Castiel would have thought could be cooked in this place. He sighed with content. “See. ’S good.”

“Yes.”

Hannah swallowed her bite and commented, “I swear this place has the best burgers in town.”

“Duh,” Dean mumbled.

After they finished their meals, Dean ordered a slice of apple pie. He wolfed it down while the others watched, apparently unconcerned that he was the only one still eating.

When Dean had finally wiped his plate clean of every crumb, they paid and drove to the school. While riding in the Impala, Castiel noticed that Dean seemed a bit troubled. Or was that his imagination?

“Y’know,” Dean said as the group stepped into the pulsating gym. “People might think this is a double date. Two girls, two guys.”

“No one would ever think I’m dating either of you,” Charlie replied wryly. “Hello, have you met me? Out and proud, bitch.”

Dean hooked a thumb at her dress and added, “And loud.”

Charlie shoved him playfully. “Don’t push me, Winchester.” Her lips spread into an impish grin. She snatched at Dean’s wrist. “Come and dance with me, boyfriend.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

Charlie yanked Dean onto the dance floor, leaving Hannah and Castiel on the sidelines. “If Charlie is Dean’s date,” Castiel mused, “I suppose that means I am yours.”

“God, Cas, they were kidding,” Hannah snapped.

Castiel was taken aback by the hostility in her voice. He hadn’t thought her capable of such emotion, and he was puzzled by it now. And irritated. “I know,” he retorted. He had been attempting to carry on the joke, but his delivery had obviously fallen flat. “I am not an imbecile,” he declared through clenched teeth.

Hannah’s tone softened. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. But the idea of you and me, together . . . ” She waved her hand as if to indicate disgust.

Castiel’s eyes widened. He was not attracted to Hannah in a romantic or sexual sense, but he didn’t find the notion as repulsive as she obviously did. Did that mean she didn’t like him at all? Had her friendliness been a ruse all along? “I don’t see what makes the idea so ridiculous,” he muttered.

Hannah gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s nothing to do with you, Cas. It’s just . . . you’re not my type.”

“Oh.” Did that mean--? “Are you attracted to females?”

“Not exactly.” She sighed, averting her gaze to the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I don’t know. I think maybe I could be . . . asexual?”

“What?” Castiel spluttered. “You like to have sex with yourself?”

“God, Cas, keep it down,” she hissed, face reddening. “No. I don’t think that’s possible, unless masturbation counts.” Her eyes darted around the gym nervously. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

Castiel tilted his head as he pondered her words. “What does it mean, then?”

“It means you feel little or no sexual attraction. There’s a spectrum. I’m still thinking about things . . . I don’t know what applies to me. Charlie has been helping me understand this stuff.”

It boggled the mind that Hannah would discuss sexual orientation with Charlie rather than Anna, her best friend. But perhaps Charlie’s own openness on the subject helped set Hannah at ease.

Hannah scanned the crowd until her eyes alit on a red-haired girl near the punch bowl. Anna, who was leaning her head on a brown-haired boy’s shoulder. He ran his fingers over a strand of hair lingering near her ear. There was something disconcerting in how he executed the action, like a dog marking his territory. Hannah frowned. “Ugh,” she murmured.

“Is that Crowley?” Castiel asked.

“Yep.” She shivered. “Gross, isn’t he?”

Crowley kissed the top of Anna’s head; then his gaze shot toward them. He smirked before meeting Anna’s eyes. “He seems creepy,” Castiel opined.

“Yeah, he’s that, too.”

“Hey, guys,” a familiar male voice called. They spun around and found themselves facing a beaming Benny and Jo. Jo looked radiant in a shiny white dress, and Benny wore a dapper suit. “Where’s Abbot and Costello?”

Charlie and Dean appeared behind Benny and Jo and screamed. The couple jumped; Jo even squealed.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Jo said. “Fuck you.” Benny snickered, and Dean guffawed.

“You guys been enjoyin’ yourselves?” Charlie inquired.

A lovely blush spread over Jo’s cheeks. “He’s amazing. We went to the best Italian restaurant, had dinner by candlelight—”

“Aw, Benny, ya big softie,” Dean interrupted.

Jo smacked him on the arm. “At least he knows how to be a gentleman.” Benny flashed a self-satisfied smile.

The slow song currently playing gradually transitioned into a fast-paced one. Benny grabbed Jo’s arm. “Well, nice seein’ ya. Gotta get my lady on the dance floor.” Jo giggled as he dragged her toward the center of the gym.

Dean whistled. “Those two as lovebirds. Who’d a thunk it?”

Charlie’s eyes glittered, and Castiel wondered what mischief she was contemplating this time. “Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I dare you to dance with Cas.”

Dean glanced at Castiel uncertainly. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” She practically bounced on the balls of her feet. “Well?”

“I don’t think Cas would like it.”

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. “Wimp!”

“Cas doesn’t want to.” Dean’s eyes flickered to Castiel again. “Right?”

“Actually, I do not mind,” Castiel responded. Truthfully, the thought provoked a strange flutter in his stomach. He didn’t know why. He attempted to match Charlie’s light-hearted grin.

“See?” Charlie said. “Wimp.”

“Shuddup.” Dean laced his fingers through Castiel’s. “Fine. C’mon, Cas.”

Castiel regretted egging Charlie on as soon as he and Dean were in the middle of the gyrating crowd. He had no idea how to dance. He stood stock still, lost as Dean released his hand and began to move.

“Cas, what’re you doin’?” Dean huffed.

“I can’t dance,” Castiel admitted.

Dean chuckled. “No one can dance, Cas. They just make it up.” He grasped Castiel’s hand and twirled him around. Castiel gasped, startled at the sudden movement. Dean caught him by the shoulders before he could hit the floor. Castiel wobbled as he struggled to maintain his footing. “Don’t worry. I got ya, Cas.” Dean helped Castiel stabilize himself then spun Castiel around, and now Dean’s mossy green eyes bore into his, unblinking. A second later, Dean jerked as if coming out of a trance and tore his eyes away from Castiel. “So, yeah. Just do what ya want.”

“Okay.” Castiel followed Dean’s advice. After a few minutes, he realized he was actually having fun.

But of course it couldn’t last forever.

“Look what the gay squad dragged in,” Gordon Walker taunted beside them. Bela hung on his shoulder, smirking. “Fuckin’ fags’re finally showin’ their true colors!”

Dean and Castiel abruptly ceased dancing. “Zip it, Gordon,” Dean hissed.

“Aw, don’t pretend like he ain’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s _not_ , asshole. I don’t swing that way.” Where did that stab of melancholy come from?

“Sure ya don’t.”

“Shut it.”

Gordon gestured at Castiel. “Don’t know why you had to choose the fruitiest fag in this joint.”

Dean’s cheeks bloomed bright red. “I thought I told ya to shut up, dickface.”

Gordon smirked. “You ain’t the boss of me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean hurled a fist toward Gordon, striking him in the eye.

A spark ignited.

Dean and Gordon threw punches at each other, Castiel yelling at them to stop and Bela urging them to continue. All the other students gathered around and cheered the opponents on. Dean shoved Gordon to the ground, and Dean tumbled down when Gordon tugged at his ankle.

“Dean! Gordon!” Mr. Shurley hollered, his voice barely audible. His unkempt hair and five o’clock shadow didn’t match his tailored suit, and Castiel would have laughed if he wasn’t so concerned for Dean. Gordon bit his finger, and Dean groaned.

“Hey! Winchester! Walker!” a voice boomed. The spectators stilled at the innate authority projected by Principal Henriksen. Dean and Gordon froze in place. “Knock it off!” Dean and Gordon stood up. “Leave. _Now_.”

“But Mr. Henriksen—” Gordon protested.

“I said _go_. You’re lucky I don’t give you detention. Or worse.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied. He strolled out of the gym, and Gordon silently followed.

xxxxxxxxxx

Fuck Gordon and his asshole-ish ways. So what if he wanted to dance with Cas for kicks? Didn’t mean he was gay. Even if he was, that didn’t give Gordon a right to be a damn jerk.

Fuming, Dean took a long detour since he didn’t feel like going home quite yet. He aimed for the park neighboring the school, paying little attention to where his feet led him until he slammed smack into something.

“Watch it, punk!” a girl hissed.

Dean finally surveyed his surroundings. The golden-haired girl—fuck. Lilith freakin’ DeVille. She held a cigarette between two fingers.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled.

She blew smoke in his face, and he coughed. “You better be. You’re lucky I don’t sic my guys on you.”

What guys? Dean didn’t see anyone else around. He was tempted to tell her to go ahead, but what if some of her friends actually were around here somewhere? He didn’t feel up to another fight, and he didn’t think he could take on more than one person. At least not right now.

Nick appeared from a dense thicket of trees and snaked an arm around Lilith’s shoulders. He kissed her temple and asked, “Is this dweeb botherin’ ya, babe?”

“Nah. What’s a fly to me?”

“Pesky.”

“True. But when it comes down to it, it can’t do jackshit really.”

Ruby materialized from the playground located to Dean’s right, cigarette in hand. Sam followed her.

With a damn cigarette hanging between his lips.

“What the hell, Sammy?” Dean growled.

Sam drew the cigarette out of his mouth and dumped the ashes on the ground. “What?”

“You . . . cigarette?”

Sam snorted, and the others scoffed. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Dean snatched the cigarette from Sam’s hand, tossed it to the ground, and stubbed it out. “Those are bad for you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God, Dean. What’re you now, Mr. Goody Two Shoes?”

“No, bitch. I just don’t want my baby bro dyin’ of lung cancer.”

“I’m not your _baby brother_ anymore, Dean. And you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“What?”

“I know you’ve smoked weed before. That’s worse.”

“That’s completely different!”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah? How?”

“It’s not as bad for you.”

“It’s illegal, Dean. Cigarettes aren’t.”

“Yeah, they are, for people your age.”

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Whatever. Leave me alone.”

Dean lunged for Sam, but Sam backed away from his grasp. “C’mon. We’re goin’ home.”

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“ _No_.”

“Leave the kid alone,” Lilith interjected.

“C’mon, Sammy.”

“Hey, Winchester.” Nick balled his hand into a fist. “Wanna feel this in your gut?” Behind him, more of Lilith’s friends were creeping out of the woodwork.

He needed to get Sammy out of here, but he wasn’t up for a beat down. Much as it pained him, he had to admit defeat.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

He lumbered back to the school parking lot. Inside the Impala, he covered his face with his hands. Fuckin’ hell. He shouldn’t have given up so quickly. What kind of brother was he? Sam was a damn kid, and Dean was lettin’ him stay back there with Lilith, Ruby, and their friends. They’d corrupt him.

They were already corrupting him.

And Dean had walked away like a wuss.

Dammit, but sometimes he really hated himself.


	10. Bacchanalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for underage alcohol and drug use, sexual harassment/attempted sexual assault, and child abuse.
> 
> I'm especially nervous about this chapter since I've been looking forward to it for a while . . . it's one of the first scenes I envisioned when I got the idea for this fic. I hope it's all right.
> 
> It'll be a little bit of time before I post the next chapter. My DCBB posting date is in one week!

Dean smirked at himself in the mirror. He looked damn good. Jeans, brown cowboy boots, red flannel shirt—that wasn’t far from the norm. But cover the shirt with a striped dark brown serape, don a cowboy hat, and boom!—awesome costume. Some douchebags might call it a lousy attempt, but fuck them.

The whole school went to Andy’s Saturday night Halloween party, popular and unpopular alike. The masses would buy their drugs from Andy and party at his house, but they all thought they were too damn good to actually hang out with him otherwise. Though Dean wasn’t a huge fan of parties, he wanted Andy to have some real friends there. Plus, it would be fun to see what people decided to wear.

Duh he’d be drinking tonight, but he wasn’t worried about his baby. He’d probably just spend the night at Andy’s like everyone else. Well, almost everyone else. Cas could bum a ride home from someone like Hannah. (He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten Cas to agree to come in the first place.)

Dean drove the couple of blocks to Cas’s house. When Cas dashed outside to meet him, Dean gaped at him. What kind of costume was that? He just looked a little dressier than usual, with black slacks and a white button-up shirt. His long tan trench coat covered up most of it. But then, on his back—

A pair of black cardboard wings.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Dean spouted. “A holy tax accountant?”

Cas crinkled his brow in confusion. “What? No. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

Dean laughed. “So, what? You just threw on some wings and called it a costume?”

“No. It—it’s my name.” Now it was Dean’s turn to be lost. “I was named after an angel. Castiel means ‘my cover is God.’”

“Huh.” Dean gazed at him, contemplating his words. He remembered wonderin’ where Cas’s name came from. Now he knew. “Why’re your wings black? Aren’t angels’ wings supposed to be all white and fluffy and shit?”

Cas broke into an amused grin. “I wouldn’t imagine the Old Testament angels as such. They embody ethereal power.”

“Ethereal power,” Dean said flatly. Trust Cas to use fancy words.

“Yes.” Cas’s smile widened. “And you’re a cowboy.”

“Yup.”

Cas’s eyes roved over Dean’s body, the intense gaze causing Dean to shiver inwardly. Something about Cas’s scrutiny gave him a sense of awe, almost as if Cas were one of those angels with “ethereal power.”

Cas squinted. “Is it customary to wear a blanket?”

Dean glared at him. “It’s a serape.”

“Oh. It looks like a blanket.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go.” As he turned to the car, he heard a flutter and felt the wind playing with strands of his hair. That wasn’t right. He reached up for his cowboy hat to find it gone. “What the--?” He whipped around to find Cas wearing the hat and a goofy smile. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Look,” Cas giggled, pointing at his head. “I’m a cowboy angel.”

It wasn’t _that_ funny, but Dean couldn’t help laughing at Cas’s mirth. After a minute, he forced on a straight face and demanded, “Gimme that.” He snatched the hat off of Cas’s head and firmly planted it back on his own.

Dean slid into the Impala, and Cas followed. Dean drove to the swankiest neighborhood in Lawrence, where Andy lived. Andy’s parents always attended an extravagant Halloween party somewhere out of town, leaving their son alone in the house for the weekend, and he took advantage of that.

Cars littered the street in front of Andy’s house, a large red-brick mansion. Dean had to drive three blocks until he could find somewhere to park. “Damn long walk,” Dean muttered. He thrust his hands into his pockets as they strolled toward Andy’s house. Fuck, it was cold. Cas had incorporated a coat into his costume—smart.

When they reached the house, they ascended the steps, and Dean opened the front door. He held it open for two girls he didn’t recognize behind them. They looked like sophomores, maybe. Kinda cute, but too young for him. They threw him and Cas flirtatious smiles. Dean tried not to encourage them, but he couldn’t prevent a grin. Cas, on the other hand, merely looked confused. Inside, they snickered before scurrying away.

“You scared away the nookie, Cas,” Dean pretended to complain.

Cas’s lips turned down in disgust. “Must you be so vulgar?”

Dean ignored the question and clapped Cas on the shoulder. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s see if we can find anyone we know.”

They wandered through the crowd. Damn, but that pulsing pop music gave Dean a headache. Some rapper was goin’ on about it being hot in here, so take off all your clothes . . . and yeah, that seemed appropriate. In the corners, a few couples were already feelin’ each other up.

He spotted Benny and called out to him. Jo joined Benny, and oh, God—“What the hell are you wearin’?” Dean sputtered at her.

“I’m Princess Leia. Duh.”

“Why’d you choose Bikini Leia?”

“Because. Halloween is the one night a year a girl can dress like a total slut.”

Dean had a feeling Jo was quoting something at him, but he didn’t know what. Damn, but Jo had a bangin’ body.

Han Solo—or Benny Lafitte, rather—warned, “Keep your eyes off my girl, Dean.”

Jo whacked Benny on the arm. “‘My girl’? ‘ _My_ girl?!’ I don’t _belong_ to you, Lafitte.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nice, costume, Jo!” a familiar voice shouted. Charlie approached them, decked out as the Queen of Moondoor.

“Thanks,” Jo replied.

Charlie’s eyes skimmed over Jo’s form. Benny growled, “Keep _your_ eyes off of—” He glanced at Jo self-consciously. “—Jo.” He turned to Jo. “God, I swear if the horn dogs are gonna ogle you all night.—”

“Aw, Benny. You jealous?” Jo teased. She patted his arm. “Don’t worry, babe.” She gestured at her body. “You’re the only one gettin’ any of this.”

Gross. Now Dean was imagining Benny and Jo having sex.

Jo kissed Benny on the cheek. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” Benny led her from the kitchen to the living room, where most of the dancers were located.

“So, Dean,” Charlie said. “Why’re you wearing a blanket?” Cas giggled, and Dean glared at him.

“It’s not a damn blanket,” Dean groused, “it’s a serape.” He stretched out his arms. “I’m a cowboy, see?”

“If you say so.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Charlie ignored him in favor of Cas. “Now, what are _you_ supposed to be?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.”

Charlie studied Cas. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s what the wings are for. They’re awesome, by the way. In the biblical sense. Way more regal than that fluffy white shit.”

“Thank you.”

Charlie pointed at Cas’s trench coat. “You could’ve made more of an effort with your outfit, though. What kind of clothes—oh, my God, check _that_ out!” Dean and Cas whipped their heads around to find the source of Charlie’s stare, a curly-haired brunette girl in a fairy costume. “Excuse me, boys.” Charlie sauntered over to the girl and engaged her in conversation.

“What the fuck are you guys doin’ without a drink?” someone shouted in Dean’s ear. He and Cas turned around to face Andy, who held three cups of beer. He passed one to Dean and another to Cas. “Straight from the keg!”

Dean took a gulp and smacked his lips. “Awesome,” he muttered.

Andy winked. “You know I only deliver the best.” He looked at Cas, who examined his cup as if it had sprouted wings. Like him. Ha. “Why aren’t ya drinkin’?” Andy shot at him.

Cas frowned. “I am not sure—”

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. “Just do it, Cas.”

Cas sipped at his beer and made a face. “I still do not like the taste.”

“I told you, dude. It ain’t about the damn taste.”

They followed Andy into another room, where Andy found three miraculously empty lounge chairs. They sank into them, and Andy reached into his coat. What was he supposed to be anyway, with that long black thing? A shady neighborhood drug dealer? As if he wasn’t that already.

When Andy drew his fist out of his jacket, he held it out toward Dean and Cas and opened it slowly. “Whaddaya think?”

“Hell, yeah,” Dean replied as he snatched one of the three joints from Andy’s palm.

Dean stared at Cas until he picked one up. Cas wrinkled his nose and eyed the joint dubiously. “What is it?”

“Pot. Mary Jane. Weed. Cannabis.—” Andy answered.

Cas’s eyes widened. “This is illegal.”

Dean burst into laughter. “No, shit, Cas. Now get off your high horse and smoke it, will ya?”

“I am not on any horse.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We need to get ya a dictionary of normal-people speak. Just. Try it, okay?”

Andy extracted a lighter from one of his pockets and lit his joint. Afterward, he touched the flame to Dean’s joint then Cas’s. Dean inhaled and exhaled, sighing blissfully, but Cas took one puff and broke into a coughing fit. “That,” Cas declared, “is disgusting.” He thrust his hand as far away from himself as possible. “How do I get rid of this?”

Dean guffawed. “Here.” He snatched the joint from Cas, placed it in his mouth beside the other one, and snickered. “More for me.”

“So, Cas,” Andy said, “this the first party you ever been to?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

Andy beamed. “Well, you chose a good one, pal.” He chortled.

When Dean and Andy finished their joints, they tossed the roaches into an ashtray on a nearby end table. Andy gifted Dean with another joint then left.

“How do you not find that disgusting?” Cas asked as Dean puffed on his joint.

Dean grinned around the joint. “’Cause. It makes ya mellow.” Dean could already feel his limbs loosening up. Suddenly, he was hit with a brilliant idea. “Hey, Cas. How ’bout we shotgun it?”

“What?”

Dean leaned in to Cas and demanded, “Open your mouth.” Cas studied Dean skeptically, and _come on_ , Dean thought, _just fuckin’_ do _it._ Finally, Cas parted his lips, and Dean pushed in closer then inserted the other end of the joint in Cas’s mouth. Cas flinched, but before he could move away, Dean blew smoke into his mouth.

Cas coughed and glared at Dean. “What was the point of that?”

Dean shrugged. He was feelin’ good, what with the joints and the beer—how’d his cup get full again? Andy must’ve brought him another one without him realizing it. Cas was still coughin’, his eyes a bit red, which somehow served to underscore their natural blue. Those eyes mesmerized Dean, and he felt a sluggish grin spread over his lips. They really were fuckin’ beautiful.—

What the hell? He didn’t think of Cas like that. Maybe he needed to clear his head or somethin’.

He stood up and stretched. After throwing the roach in the ashtray, he announced, “I’m gonna take a piss. Be right back.”

“Okay.”

Dean tripped down the hallway toward the bathroom, where he had to push a smooching couple out of the way in order to access the door. He tumbled inside, locked the door behind himself, and deposited his cup on the countertop. Then he unzipped his fly and did his business.

After washing his hands, he grabbed the cup and gulped down about half of it before stumbling out of the bathroom. He made a beeline for Cas. He couldn’t leave the guy alone for too long; he’d be like a lost kitten alone in this damn place.

But on the way, he got sidetracked.

There was the most _gorgeous_ brunette go-go dancer gossiping with her friends. Dean strolled up to the group and said to her, “Are you a parking ticket? ’Cause you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.” Her friends glanced at each other and tittered.

“Oh, my God,” the girl responded, “did you seriously just say that?”

Heat rose to Dean’s cheeks. “Um. Yes?”

She giggled. “Nice try.” She turned her back to him.

But Dean wasn’t gonna admit defeat quite yet. “Can I at least have your name?”

Her eyes flickered back to him. “Lisa. Braeden.”

Dean held out his hand. “I’m Dean Winchester. Sorry we got started off on the wrong foot.”

She accepted the handshake. When their hands separated, her eyes widened, and she exclaimed, “Oh! I knew I’d seen you somewhere!”

“What?”

“You were in the play a couple of weeks ago, right? Patrick Verona?”

Dean broke into a grin. “Yeah, that was me.”

“You were _so good_.”

Dean glanced at the floor and mumbled, “Thanks.” When he looked back up, he spotted a familiar figure wending its way through the crowd toward the door leading to the backyard. “Sammy?” he muttered to himself. More loudly, he said, “Sorry. I gotta go. Hope to see ya around sometime.” Before Lisa could reply, he scurried after Sam. What the fuck was he doin’ here? Kid could get into all sortsa trouble, especially with Ruby by his side.

In the backyard, a group of people were congregated around a patio table. Dean shoved his way into the crowd and discovered Sammy and Ruby taking turns with the others.

Snorting up a line of white powder strewn across the table.

Oh, hell no. That shit was too dangerous for _anyone_ , especially his baby bro.

“Sammy!” Dean thundered.

Sam jerked at the sound of his name. He spun around to face Dean and hissed, “ _What?_ ”

“C’mon. We’re goin’ home.”

“Fuck that.”

Dean stalked toward him and grasped his sleeve. “We’re leavin’.”

Sam tried to push him away, but Dean held on. “Get off me!”

“No.”

Ruby pounded her fists on his arm and hurled, “Let him go!” Dean shrugged her off easily then dragged Sam out through the backyard gate. He struggled the whole fuckin’ three blocks, but Dean finally got him to the Impala and forced him inside. Dean quickly started the car and sped away, ensuring Sam didn’t have a chance to flee.

When they arrived home, Dean finagled Sam inside and yelled, “What the _hell_ were you thinkin’?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dean?” someone called softly. Mom glided into the kitchen from the hallway, white nightgown swishing around her. “What’s going on?”

Dammit. Dean had wanted to keep this between himself and Sam. Help Sam without gettin’ him into trouble.

“Sammy, he—” Dean began as Mom examined Sam.

Mom interrupted Dean and told Sam, “Go to your room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam squeaked before rushing off.

Mom sat down at the kitchen table and said, “Come over here, Dean.”

Dean joined Mom at the table. “Mom, he—”

Mom narrowed her eyes at him. “You smell like alcohol and pot.”

Dean lowered his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You’re grounded for one week. No going out.”

“Mom, Sam—” Dean spluttered.

“Whatever Sam did does not excuse you from punishment.”

She was right, of course. And one week was pretty light, considerin’. It would be worth it, anyway, if Sam got taken care of. “Yes, ma’am. But do you know what I found him doin’? Him and Ruby?”

“Ruby? His girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Sam’s been gettin’ into all sortsa stuff since he’s started hangin’ out with her. I caught him smokin’ at homecoming. And today . . . they were sniffing cocaine.”

Mom’s expression grew shocked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She tapped her chin. “I knew he’d been up to something with the way he looked just now.” She had? Mom must’ve noticed his surprise, for she continued, “He wasn’t in any condition to have a sensible conversation. We’re going to have a big talk tomorrow, he and I. One thing’s for sure. He’s not seeing that Ruby anymore if I can help it.” Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief. “Leave Sam to me. And will you let me know if he gets up to anything else?”

“Yeah.”

Mom stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Mom.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel waited for Dean. And waited. Dean had said he was coming right back, but the minutes ticked by with no sign of him. Had Dean abandoned him? But why?

The longer he waited, the more uncomfortable he felt. It was too loud, and there were too many people. The pounding music certainly wasn’t helping.

“Here. You look like you could use another drink,” a female voice drawled behind him. He started at the sound before turning to face the source, a brown-haired girl dressed in a catsuit and wearing devil’s horns. He recognized her as one of the Goths from school. She held out a full cup of beer toward him. Only then did Castiel realize the cup he clutched was empty.

He didn’t feel like drinking any more alcohol, but he didn’t want to be rude to the girl, so he accepted her offer. He took a sip and muttered, “Thank you.”

“’Welcome,” the girl slurred as she seated herself in the chair beside him. “So. What’s Castiel Novak doin’ at a party like this?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You know who I am?”

“’Course I do, Clarence.”

“That is not my name.”

She rolled her eyes. “No shit. You’re named after an angel, right?”

“Yes.” How did she know that?

“And Clarence is an angel, too.” Castiel gave her a confused look. “Y’know. _It’s a Wonderful Life_.” She paused and studied him. “God, don’t tell me you’ve never seen that?”

“No.” Perhaps it was a film he should propose for movie night with his friends.

“I’m Meg, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Meg. How do you know who I am?”

“You’re only the biggest dweeb in school.” She shrugged. “Word gets around, pal. And I have to say—” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “—you’re probably the hottest dweeb in the history of ever.”

Castiel’s cheeks reddened, and she cackled.

She started rambling about he didn’t know what, for his mind was on Dean. When would he be back? He wished Dean would return soon. He was growing more uncomfortable by the minute, especially with Meg flashing him lascivious smiles.

She placed a hand atop his, and he jumped. “So, what do you say?” she asked.

“What?” Castiel muttered. He didn’t feel so well. His thoughts circulated fuzzily, and his limbs felt rubbery. He wanted to close his eyes. Where was Dean? Or anyone? He wanted to go home.

“About you and me getting out of here?” She stroked a thumb over his knuckles, and he resisted the urge to snatch away his hand. He shouldn’t be rude.

“Yes, I would like to leave,” he rasped, his voice sounding a little too eager in his ears.

She stood up, and he followed suit. She leaned in close and whispered, “Where should we go?” Her lips lingered inches from his.

“Where should we . . . ” he mumbled. No, he didn’t want her to come with him.

“Yeah.” She pushed into his space, and he backed away until he hit the wall. She bracketed him in with her arms and continued, “So we can finish this.” She crept in closer now, too close, and her lips were on his, a hand massaging his scalp.

“No, I don’t want . . . ” he tried to protest, but he could barely hear his own voice.

“Shh,” she breathed against his lips. “It’s all right. Really.” She pressed her body against his, and his mind grew frantic. He needed her to get off of him. Now.

When she moved in again to put her lips on his, he shoved her away. A little too aggressively, for she stumbled backward and fell on her butt. He gaped at her and rasped, “I’m sorry.”

She scrambled to her feet and huffed, “Oh, you’re sorry, huh? Asshole. What the fuck are you, a girl?”

“What?”

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” Castiel blinked at her, baffled. Was she alleging that he had _encouraged_ her advances? He hadn’t responded to her in any way. “Whatever,” she ended with before stalking away.

“Was that Meg Masters?” Hannah asked from beside him.

He turned to her and beamed. A friend. Finally! “Yes.”

“Why were you kissing her?”

“She _kissed me_!” Castiel exclaimed. He licked his lips and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I didn’t want it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Castiel didn’t want to talk about Meg anymore. “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?”

Hannah shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.” She paused then said, “C’mon, let’s see if we can find somewhere with less people.”

“Okay.” He followed Hannah through the house’s neverending rooms. In one of them, he heard a shriek and stopped. He searched for the source of the noise and discovered that Anna Milton had been cornered by Crowley.

“Get off me!” Anna hissed. She grabbed Crowley’s wrists and attempted to push him away.

“I thought you liked me, love,” Crowley replied in his silky accent.

“You’re going too fast! And I don’t like . . . ” Her eyes darted around nervously. “ . . . in public.”

Crowley jerked his hands out of Anna’s grasp and said, “Oh, c’mon, babe. I know you _love_ when everyone watches.” He pushed her body flush against hers.

Tears dripped down Anna’s cheeks. “No. I don’t,” she cried.

He smashed his lips onto hers, and Castiel cringed. He had to do something. How could so many people pass by and not help her?

He strode toward Crowley and demanded, “Let her go.”

Crowley pried his lips off of Anna’s and chuckled when he saw the source of the threat. “Fuck off.”

“No.”

“What’re you going to do about it, freak?”

“Castiel—” Anna began.

Crowley slapped her, and her head recoiled, hitting the wall. “Shut up, bitch!”

Castiel morphed into a ball of instinct.

He hurled a punch at Crowley’s nose. “Ow!” Crowley hissed. He scowled at Castiel and warned, “Oh, you’re going to so regret that.”

Castiel tried to strike at Crowley again, but this time Crowley caught his fist and yanked it to the side. Castiel winced then brought up another fist, hitting Crowley in the eye. Crowley punched him in the gut, and he doubled over at the sudden pain.

“Fight! Fight!” someone shouted enthusiastically.

Crowley took advantage of Castiel’s disorientation and shoved him to the ground. He planted his knees to either side of Castiel and rained punches all over Castiel’s body. He was dimly aware of a crowd gathering around them, of the others cheering Crowley on. Every time he attempted to strike back against Crowley, Crowley arrested his motion.

He must resort to desperate measures.

He kneed Crowley in the groin, and Crowley fell backward. Castiel staggered to his feet. Anna drew an arm around his shoulders to support him.

Crowley glanced up at them. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, freak,” he intoned. As he moved to stand, Anna kicked him in the side, and he collapsed again.

Hannah appeared from somewhere and urged, “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Hannah and Anna helped Castiel walk as they made their way to Hannah’s car. Once Hannah was on the road, Anna turned around to face him and said, “Thanks, Castiel.”

“You are welcome,” Castiel replied.

“I told you he was a jackass,” Hannah said.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Anna responded.

“I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Hannah dropped Castiel off at his house, waving at him when she pulled out of the driveway. Castiel reached behind himself and realized he must have lost his wings at some point. Oh, well. He unlocked the door, looking forward to laying his head on a pillow and—

He froze when he stepped inside.

Father was sitting at the kitchen table, and he looked far from happy.

“You’re late, Castiel,” Father snarled. “Do you know what time it is?” Castiel eyed the clock above the stove. 12:30. His heart sank.

Father narrowed his eyes at Castiel and continued, “What sins have you committed tonight, Castiel? Look at those bruises on your neck and face.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “I smell alcohol. And marijuana. And God knows what else.” After a few minutes of tense silence, Father yelled, “Answer me dammit!”

Castiel flinched at the malice in Father’s voice. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could do was stare.

“I will _not_ have another one of my sons turning into a hellion,” Father declared. He lowered his voice and continued, “You will have to be punished, of course.”

Castiel swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

“Come here.”

Castiel obeyed, and Father ordered him to stand against the wall. He left the room to retrieve the switch. When he returned, he commanded, “Show me your hands.”

“What?” Castiel whispered. Father always used the switch only where the lacerations would be covered by clothing.

“Do not question me, boy,” Father hurled. His voice held an even deeper note of menace than usual. There was a wildness to it, something Castiel had never heard before. “Show. Me. Your. Hands.”

Castiel cradled them against his chest. If Father were to damage his hands . . . “No, Father,” he pleaded. “I need them.” Without them, how would he fence? Or write?

“You should have thought of that before.” Father flicked the switch at the corner of Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel whimpered. “Now. Show. Me. Your. Hands.”

Castiel’s body shook as he presented Father with his hands, palm up.

Father’s lips curled into a chilling smile. “Good. Now kneel.” Before Castiel could move, Father pushed him to his knees. “Count.”

Father struck his hands, and Castiel uttered, “One. Two . . . ” Father had not said how many lashes he would administer, but it was already too many. Tears streamed down Castiel’s cheeks. He wept not for the pain, but for his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Dean hears is "Hot in Herre" by Nelly.
> 
> The movie Jo quotes to Dean is _Mean Girls_.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are very welcome and much appreciated. :)


	11. A Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my DCBB has been posted! It's [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2417063/chapters/5347916), if you'd like to have a look-see. (Please do.)
> 
> I've finished that, and I'm glad I had an early posting date because life is going to be busy for a while (which will affect updates to this fic).
> 
> Warning for underage drug use and drinking.

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean exclaimed as Cas joined the group for lunch on Monday. His eyes roved over Cas’s face and throat, taking in the bruises peppering his skin. “What the hell happened to you?” Must’ve been Zachariah fuckin’ Novak.

Cas settled onto the ground, crossing his legs and drawing his trench coat tighter around himself. “I got in a fight,” he said, biting into an apple as casually as you please.

“Bullshit,” Dean answered sharply. Oops. He was supposed to keep the crap about Cas’s dad a secret. But seriously, how did Cas expect him to believe that lie? It was Dean’s go-to excuse, and he knew it.

“It is not bullshit,” Cas retorted, uttering the last word so awkwardly that Dean couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s true, Dean,” Andy chimed in. He licked a dollop of peanut butter off of his index finger and continued, “It happened at the Halloween party. You didn’t see it?”

“No.” What sort of craziness was this? _Cas_ , of all people, gettin’ into a fight? Must’ve occurred after Dean had dragged Sam away. Dean felt a guilty pang at the thought. Could he have saved Cas if he’d stayed?

“Yeah, I didn’t see you,” Charlie said. “Where were you?”

“I wasn’t feelin’ too good, so I went home.”

“And you didn’t even tell us good-bye?”

“I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

Dean sighed and turned back to Cas. “So, how’d this fight happen anyway?”

“Crowley,” Hannah spat. “He was trying to force himself on Anna, and Cas stepped in.”

“Then got his ass handed to him,” Benny cut in.

That certainly sounded like somethin’ that would happen to Cas, and his face testified to the accuracy of the statement. Dean’s heart clenched at the images his brain conjured. Cas, having his face and nose crushed underfoot. Crowley throwing jabs at his neck.

Dean tried to dispel his uneasiness with a flippant remark. “Who knew, Cas? You, a regular knight in shining armor.”

“That was not the costume I wore—” Cas began.

Dean held up a hand. “Can it, dude. It’s just an expression.”

Cas sighed forlornly. “Sometimes I don’t understand half of what you say.”

Dean heard footsteps behind him, then a female voice. “Do you mind if I sit with you guys?”

Dean halfway turned around to face the speaker. Anna Milton gazed at them, hesitation writ across her face. “Not at all,” Dean replied. He eyed the others. “Right?”

“Right,” Jo affirmed.

Hannah scooted over, and Anna sat down between her and Dean. “What happened to your regular crowd?” he asked.

She shrugged and chuckled, a hint of bitterness underlying the sound. “Some of them are mad at me right now.”

“Why?”

Anna rolled her eyes. “They blame the Crowley-Cas fight on me. Say I was leading Crowley on. That I _deserve_ —” Anna’s voice quivered with the last word. “—to have someone give me a beating.”

Everyone stared at Anna, horrified. Finally, Dean pronounced, “Fuck that shit.”

Hannah placed a hand on Anna’s wrist and, with quiet intensity, affirmed, “Yes, Anna. Fuck that shit.”

Anna barked a laugh and wiped a tear from her eyes. “Thanks, guys.”

“No one deserves anything like that,” Cas declared. He fumbled with his apple before dropping it.

“You certainly didn’t, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Cas picked up the apple with some difficulty. Almost as if something was the matter with his hands. He shoved the apple into his paper bag and bit into a sandwich. Dean noted that he grasped the sandwich with the tips of his fingers. It looked awkward. His hands must really be hurting.

Throughout the meal, Dean observed that Cas continued to touch things carefully. He also seemed to be hiding his palms from everyone. What’d happened? Probably something to do with the fight, Dean surmised.

_But how?_ Dean wondered as the day wore on. Had Crowley pulled out a weapon? Had Cas’s hands snagged on something when he’d hit Crowley?

In English, Dean watched as Cas laboriously jotted down notes. He resolved to ask Cas about it on their way to fencing, but he chickened out, and soon, they’d arrived.

After Dean suited up, he glanced at the other side of the room. Cas tossed his sabre to the floor and approached Ms. Mills. Dean frowned. He wished he could hear what they were saying. A second later, Cas dashed outside.

Something was up.

Dean shoved past the other students toward the door. “Dean! Where’re you going?” Ms. Mills shouted after him as he followed Cas out of the room.

He was gonna get to the bottom of this, dammit.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel hefted the sabre in his hand, attempting to get a solid grip on it. But he couldn’t touch it with anything but his fingertips; every time he tried, his hands felt as if they were on fire. How could he manipulate the sword if he couldn’t even hold it?

The sabre clattered to the floor, and at the sound, Ms. Mills glanced at him. He shuffled toward her to explain. He just couldn’t do this right now.

“Ms. Mills,” Castiel addressed her. “I am afraid I cannot . . . My hands are injured; I cannot practice at the moment.”

Ms. Mills studied him. “Does it have anything to do with whatever happened to you this weekend?”

“Y . . . y—yes.”

“I never thought you would be the type to get involved in that kind of thing.” Castiel gazed at her silently, and her expression grew sympathetic.

“I—” Castiel finally continued. He swallowed, attempting to hold back the tears at what he knew he must do. “I think I will have to drop out of the tournament this weekend.”

Ms. Mills gaped at him. “Are you sure?” Castiel nodded. “You do know this will affect your state ranking, Castiel.”

“I am aware.” Castiel hoped he would be able to attend the next tournament. If he missed too many tournaments, he might not qualify for this year’s state championship finals.

Ms. Mills sighed. “All right, Castiel. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Castiel stalked out of the room and found an out-of-the-way spot outside. He lowered himself to the ground, leaned his back against the wall, and pulled his knees up to his chin. He closed his eyes as he brooded on the latest development in his life. Father wouldn’t be happy about his decision not to attend this weekend’s tournament, and he would probably say Castiel was weak for it. But Castiel simply was not capable of fencing at this time.

Footsteps stomped toward him, and Castiel shut his eyes tighter. If Father had discovered him out here—

“Cas?” a warm voice ventured.

At the sound of Dean’s voice, Castiel opened his eyes. His father hadn’t found him, then. Castiel felt his shoulders sag with relief, and he smiled. “Oh. It’s you. I was afraid you might be Father.”

“Nah.” Dean sank down next to Castiel. “So. What was that all about?”

“What?”

“In fencing.”

Castiel shrugged. “My body is still sore from the fight. I was having difficulty handling the sword.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Show me your hands.”

No, no one could see his hands. Especially Dean. They’d know the injuries didn’t come from Crowley. Castiel pressed his palms on his knees, wincing at the pain. “No.”

“Show them to me,” Dean hissed.

“You are not my boss.”

“No, but I am your friend.” Castiel didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “Do I have to force you?”

“Yes.” Castiel made to stand up, but Dean loomed in front of him so that he had no space to move.

Dean snatched at one of his hands and pried it open. He stared at the lines scored into Castiel’s skin. “What the hell, Cas? Your old man did this?”

“Crowley.” Dean traced one of the lines, and Castiel’s breath hitched at the gentle touch. He attempted to ignore the strange feeling wrenching at his gut and yanked his hand out of Dean’s grasp.

“No way was that Crowley,” Dean concluded. “It’s too deep. It was your dad, wasn’t it?” Castiel neither confirmed nor denied Dean’s hypothesis. “Jesus, Cas. You’ve gotta report him.”

“No.”

“C’mon, you can’t let him get away with that shit.”

“Oh, you mean like you don’t let your father get away with that shit?” Castiel bit back. He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.”

“’Course it is.”

“This was an anomaly, Dean. Father doesn’t normally behave like that.”

Dean snorted. “You’re serious?”

“I admit . . . some of his punishments might seem a bit extreme.” Dean gave him a disbelieving look. “But this, with the hands, he’s never done it before. Not even with Gabriel,” Castiel realized.

“So he doesn’t usually go for the hands. Big deal. Doesn’t mean everythin' else he does is okay.”

“No,” Castiel acknowledged. “But if Michael and Gabriel endured Father, so can I.”

All the fight seemed to go out of Dean. “Whatever,” he mumbled. Bitterly, he added, “I guess I don’t have room to talk, huh?”

Castiel smiled ruefully. “Now I want the truth, Dean.” Dean raised his eyebrows, puzzled. “Why did you leave the party early?”

Dean did a double take at the abrupt change in subject. “I already told you. I wasn’t feelin’ too good.”

“As you are so fond of saying: bullshit.”

“What?”

“I can read you, Dean.” Castiel felt self-conscious at the admission. It was true, but since when? “Besides, if it was merely illness, you would have deigned to say good-bye.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Just tell me the truth and all will be forgiven.”

Dean sighed. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I promise.” Castiel felt a sense of awe: how had he been able to convince Dean to confide in him about so many things?

“It’s Sam. You know that girl he’s been hangin’ out with?”

“Ruby? Lilith’s sister?”

“Yeah.” Dean swept a hand through his hair. “I saw him and her at the party and—um—they were . . . ”

“What were they doing?” Engaging in sexual activity, perhaps?

“Cocaine.”

“Oh, no, Dean. I’m sorry,” Castiel commiserated.

“Hey, you didn’t make the kid touch the stuff. But I had to get him outta there, y’know?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.” It all made so much sense now. Dean hadn’t abandoned him on Saturday. He had been trying to save his brother.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while until Dean interrupted it. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“How ’bout I make copies of my English notes for you? Just until your hands are better.”

“That would be kind, Dean. Thank you.”

“I’ll get the others to do it, too. Writing must hurt like a bitch.”

“You would do that?” Castiel marveled.

“’Course, Cas. You’re my best friend.”

Castiel’s mouth hung open. Surely he had misheard Dean. How could he be anyone’s best friend? Especially Dean’s? After all, Dean had befriended him only out of pity.

xxxxxxxxxxx

On Wednesday night, Castiel and his father met Michael at McAlister’s for dinner. The restaurant had been Michael’s choice, one that had surprised Father. Michael had explained that he didn’t want to go anywhere fancy; he craved casual fare right now. Work had been hectic lately, and Michael was exhausted.

Castiel examined Michael, who sat across from him at the table. He did look worn out. Bags hung underneath his eyes, and his hair was in disarray. Michael yawned and ran a hand through his hair.

Castiel returned his focus to his salad. Using a fork was easier than handling a sandwich, but Castiel still found it difficult to maneuver the utensil.

“Castiel?” Michael ventured. Castiel flinched, startled that Michael had suddenly addressed him. He turned his eyes to Michael, who continued, “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” Castiel answered. What a strange question.

“What’s the matter with your hands?”

Castiel shrank under Michael’s intense gaze. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re holding your fork a little oddly.”

“Castiel,” Father cut in, “mind your manners. Hold your fork properly.” Castiel attempted to obey, but he dropped the fork when he tried. Father gave him an irritated look then turned to Michael. “Remember that fight I told you about?” Michael nodded. When Michael had met them here, he’d gasped at Castiel’s bruises, so Father had told him about the fight at the Halloween party. “He hurt his hands, too. It’s _his_ fault, so he has no business coddling himself. Hold your fork right, Castiel.”

“Can I see them?” Michael asked.

“Oh. Sure.” Father snapped, “Show him your hands, Castiel.”

Castiel unfolded his hands on the table, palm upward, and Michael studied them. He looked Castiel in the eye and uttered, “This is from a fight?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied. Michael’s eyes darted around uncertainly until they settled back on Castiel’s hands. He tapped the right one and declared, “It looks like this one might be infected.” Indeed, the cuts on his right hand had grown more inflamed every day, while those on his left were gradually receding. “You should take him to a doctor.”

“No. Let him suffer for his sins,” Father countered.

“He already has. You wouldn’t want him to lose a hand, would you?”

Father’s mouth turned down in distaste. “No.”

“So take him to the doctor.”

“All right.”

Castiel withdrew his hands from the table. Michael gazed at him, frowning, an inscrutable look in his eyes. Almost as if he was trying to tell Castiel something, but Castiel didn’t know what it was.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sam has been pissed at Dean since the Halloween party. Mom grounded him for the rest of the semester, forbidding him from going out, watching TV, or playing video games. He was allowed to do them, though, if Dean wanted to participate with him.

Dean couldn’t go out tonight, either. He would miss today’s movie night, which was at Gabriel’s, of all places. Dean’s heart stuttered when he remembered why Castiel could attend this weekend’s movie night. He’d been forced to miss this weekend’s fencing tournament, all because of his douchebag of a dad.

Dean could play video games, however. He decided to ask Sam if he wanted to join him. Hopefully, extending the olive branch would thaw the atmosphere between the Winchester brothers.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean called as he traipsed through the hallway toward Sam’s bedroom. “Whaddaya think about—?” Dean pushed open the door, slightly ajar, and discovered an empty room. White curtains billowed around a window that had been left wide open.

Sammy had snuck out. Goddamn him.

“Mom,” Dean yelled.

“Yes, Dean?” Mom shouted back.

Dean wandered through the house until he found his mom in the laundry room. “Sammy’s gone,” he informed her.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Mom sputtered.

“I mean he’s _gone_.”

“Where?” Dean shrugged. “We’ve got to find him.” She dropped the half-full laundry basket on the floor and stalked out of the room. “Do you have any idea where he could’ve gone?”

“No, but I know _who_ he might have gone with."

Mom gaped at him. “You think he’s out with Ruby?”

“Yeah.” And there was no tellin’ what kind of shit they were gettin’ up to.

Mom headed toward the car, and Dean followed her. Mom didn’t waste time calling Dad to explain what was going on. He was out with his boss, Bobby Singer, and Mom didn’t want to interrupt them. The priority was finding Sammy, anyway, not chatting with Dad.

First, they drove to the DeVille residence. Mom spoke with Mrs. DeVille while Dean waited in the car. After ten minutes, Mom came scurrying back with an extremely pissed off expression on her face. “That bitch is an awful mother,” Mom seethed underneath her breath as she started the car.

“Whoa, Mom,” Dean teased. “Language.”

“Your dad says much worse,” she muttered as she pulled out onto the road.

“So. What happened?”

“She says she has no idea where her kids are. Parents shouldn’t stifle their children by interfering with their lives. I asked if she was aware that at least one of her daughters had experimented with drugs, and she just said it wasn’t her problem. What the hell? She’s their goddamn _parent_.”

It didn’t sound like the DeVilles were much for spending time with their children. Suddenly, Dean was seized by an appreciation for his mom and dad. At least they were interested in his life. Yeah, maybe Dad was disappointed sometimes, but he was aware of what was going on with Dean at least. And Mom . . . well, Dean had always recognized he was lucky to have her.

They stopped by all the hotspots Dean knew about. The mainstream hangouts like the mall, theater, and restaurants, as well as more out of the way places like abandoned lots and small parks. After they’d looked everywhere, they still hadn’t found Sam.

Then Dean remembered the urban wilderness. No one ever went to it at night. That was why Dean had chosen to spend the night there when Dad got out of control. Could Sam have suggested it to Ruby?

“Let’s try Pontiac Nature Park,” Dean told Mom.

When they arrived, they discovered one car in the parking lot. Dean recognized it as Lilith’s. He and Mom approached it and peered inside. In the backseat, Lilith was making out with Nick, her hand down his pants and his fondling her breasts underneath her shirt. Ruby and Sam were in the front, taking turns blowing cocaine from the dashboard and exchanging obscene kisses.

Mom pulled at the door handle, but the car was locked. “Sam!” she thundered as she rapped the glass. Everyone in the car jumped and turned to the source of the noise. Ruby opened the front passenger door and flashed a sloppy smile. “Hi there, Mrs. Winchester,” she slurred.

“Mom? Dean?” Sam gasped from the driver’s seat. He better not have been drivin’ that thing. The kid was only fourteen.

“Get out here this instant!” Mom fumed. Sam shrank against the door. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Mom reached across Ruby and yanked Sam out of the car, knocking Ruby onto the concrete in the process. “You’re comin’ with me.” She firmly grasped both of Sam’s wrists. “And you.” She pointed at Ruby then the others. “All of you. If I see you near my son again, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Ruby smirked. “Does it make you feel big and bad to threaten a bunch of teenagers, Mrs. Winchester?” If Mom wasn’t there, Dean would’ve beat Ruby’s ass himself.

She studied Ruby, Lilith, and Nick. “I feel sorry for you.” She turned her back to them and hauled Sam to the car. She shoved him into the backseat then settled in to drive. “If I have to put iron bars on your windows and lock you in your room, I’ll do it,” she told Sam.

“Oh, my God, Mom,” Sam retorted. “Get a grip. We were just being normal teenagers.”

“If everyone was jumping off a cliff, would you do it, too?”

“Why does every parent in the history of ever use that line?”

“Because it makes a valid point.”

“Whatever.”

At a stoplight, Mom directed a furious look at Sam. Dean saw the worry underneath it, a worry that matched his own.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s free weekend belonged to Gabriel. On the phone, he had explained the situation to Gabriel, how he had to drop out of this weekend’s fencing tournament. He had told him about what had occurred at the Halloween party and Father’s punishment.

“That son of a bitch,” Gabriel had spat.

Gabriel had then insisted that Castiel hold movie night at Gabriel’s apartment. Castiel hadn’t wanted to impose, but Gabriel had gotten him to concede that he was the only person in his group of friends who hadn’t hosted the event. Castiel had pointed out that Gabriel would have to clean his apartment, and Gabriel had claimed he would.

Gabriel, however, had made no effort to do any such thing. Thus, Castiel spent most of Saturday scouring Gabriel’s apartment by himself. His hands burned excruciatingly when he was done.

Now, Hannah, Charlie, and Garth lounged on the couch while Castiel, Benny, and Jo sat on the floor. Benny and Jo leaned back against the couch, and Benny drew his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. Everyone sipped their sodas and gossiped.

Gabriel slid into the living room from the kitchen. He squeezed onto the couch beside Charlie, who glared at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, sister.” Charlie’s scowl deepened. Gabriel gestured at the room’s occupants. “So these are the loons who thought socializing with you was a good idea,” Gabriel said to Castiel. “But where’s your loverboy?”

“Loverboy?” Castiel replied, puzzled.

“Dean-o.”

Castiel flushed, and the others giggled. “He and I are not lovers.”

A knock disrupted the mirth. Castiel opened the door to Andy, who strolled inside with a twelve-pack of beer. “Yo, I’ve got the booze,” Andy announced.

Gabriel bounded off the couch. “Gimme that!” he hissed as he snatched the package from Andy.

“Hey!” Andy exclaimed.

“I’m not letting minors drink in my house!”

“This isn’t a house,” Castiel muttered.

Andy turned to Castiel. “I thought you said he was cool.”

“I _am_ cool!” Gabriel retorted. “But Lord God in heaven, I won’t have anyone suing me when one of you idiots passes out and chokes on your own vomit.” Assuming a neutral tone, he addressed the entire room. “So, what’re we watchin’?”

Castiel stared, appalled. He’d had no idea that Gabriel actually planned to view the films with them. If he’d known, he never would have agreed to invite his friends over.

“ _Bambi_?” Hannah ventured.

“Oh, my God, is this a ten-year-old’s slumber party?” Gabriel gibed. Hannah blushed.

“It’s Disney night,” Charlie explained, who still looked annoyed that Gabriel had shoved himself onto the couch beside her. “Cas hasn’t seen any of the classics.”

Garth gazed at everyone with puppy-dog eyes. “Do we have to watch _Bambi_? It’s so sad.”

“Cas?” Gabriel said. “These dweebs gave you a nickname?”

Charlie slapped Gabriel on the shoulder. “Who’re you callin’ a dweeb? You’re the adult who’s hanging out with a bunch of teenagers.”

“Whatever. Did anyone bring _The Lion King_?”

“Yep,” Jo replied. “We’ve got _Bambi_ , _The Lion King_ , _Beauty and the Beast_ , _Cinderella_ , and _Aladdin_.”

“Okay. _Lion King_ it is.”

“You don’t get to pick the movie,” Benny interjected.

“C’mon. You’ve gotta admit it’s the best Disney movie _ever_. It’s basically _Hamlet_ with animals,” Gabriel pronounced, grinning slyly.

“Bullshit,” Benny snapped.

Gabriel smirked. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”

“I did,” Charlie responded. She gazed at Gabriel with newfound wonder.

“At least one of you is cool. High five!” Charlie obliged. “You know, Timon and Pumbaa are basically Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Obviously.”

Castiel wished Dean was here. Literature aficionado that he was, he would have loved this conversation. With Dean’s tutelage, Castiel had learned how to analyze and even appreciate literature.

“So, we gonna watch it or what?”

“Fine,” Benny muttered. He inserted the DVD.

As the film began, Gabriel announced, “I’ll get us some popcorn!” He rushed to the kitchen, and soon a popping noise filtered into the living room.

“Your brother’s weird,” Andy commented.

“Hey, _you’re_ weird,” Jo countered.

“We’re all weird. So what?” Charlie put in.

“No, but seriously,” Andy continued. “He’s, like, super weird.”

Castiel had never thought about the matter, but he supposed that Andy was right. Gabriel was secure in himself, and he always behaved however he wished regardless of what others might think.

When the popcorn was ready, Gabriel placed two bowls of it on the table. By the time Scar had killed Mufasa, both bowls were empty, with Gabriel having eaten the majority of the popcorn. Castiel tried to hold in his tears as Scar thrust Mufasa into the stampede below. Then Scar had the nerve to convince Simba the incident had been his fault!

“Y’know, this is pretty heavy stuff for a kids’ movie,” Gabriel pointed out.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Andy mumbled.

Someone knocked on the door, and Castiel startled at the noise. Who could that be? Dean? Had he somehow evaded punishment?

Castiel made to stand up, but Gabriel signaled for him to sit down before throwing open the door to Kali.

“Finally,” Gabriel said.

“Shut up,” Kali replied.

Gabriel enclosed a hand around her wrist and drew her inside. “Well, it’s been real, kiddies,” Gabriel declared as he led Kali to his bedroom. Did Gabriel plan to have sex with Kali while Castiel’s friends were here? Castiel was mortified at the thought. If they did engage in sexual intercourse, Gabriel probably wouldn’t think anything of being too loud. He certainly hadn’t when he used to bring home one-night stands during Castiel's nights over.

“Does anyone want more popcorn?” Castiel offered.

“Hell, yeah,” Benny answered. “Dude took all of it.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

“Hey, let’s pause the movie,” Hannah suggested. “Cas shouldn’t miss anything.”

“Okay,” Garth responded. For some reason, he had the remote control.

In the kitchen, Castiel picked up a bag of popcorn with his fingertips and put it in the microwave. He decided to use the bathroom while he waited for it to finish. When he exited the bathroom, he noticed that the bedroom door was slightly ajar. He could hear Gabriel and Kali speaking in hushed tones. Despite himself, Castiel couldn’t help eavesdropping.

“Your brother’s adorable,” Kali commented. “Are you sure you can’t get custody of him?”

A sigh followed. “You know I can barely take care of myself, let alone my teenage brother.”

“But it would still be better than staying with your dad. Based on what you’ve told me about him, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Another forlorn sigh. “I’ve thought about it. But I just can’t. It’d be irresponsible, y’know?” There was a long pause before Gabriel’s next words. “’Sides, the kid’s only got one more year there. Not even that, really. He’ll be off to college soon, and then he doesn’t have to deal with that motherfucker ever again.”

“But what if something happens to him?”

“It won’t.” Silence reigned for a minute; then Gabriel said, “Listen, if I can come outta that place sorta okay, then so can Castiel. There’s no way Dad’d ever be as hard on him as he was on me.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“’Course I am, hon.”

Castiel’s head reeled from the conversation he had overheard. He contemplated it as he waited for the second bag of popcorn to be ready.

Gabriel wanted to adopt him?

How much had Gabriel told Kali about Father?

_Hon?!_

Since when did Gabriel call anyone “hon”? Castiel never would have expected that syllable to pass through his brother’s lips. He really _was_ serious about this woman.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel had to miss one more fencing tournament, but he felt confident enough to go to the one after that.

Since the incident with Crowley, Anna had been avoiding parties completely. After sitting with Dean’s group for a couple of days, Anna returned to her previous one—or part of it, at any rate. Anna’s group had split over the matter with Crowley. Half of them sympathized with Crowley, who’d spread a sob story about the event. He claimed that Anna had led him on, that she’d been begging for him to fuck her. Then when Castiel had tried to defend her honor, she felt that she had to pretend Crowley had been trying to force himself on her. Crowley was popular, so many people believed him. But before the Halloween party, Anna had been relatively popular herself. As a result, a sizable minority sided with her.

Saturday night, Anna stole two bottles of beer from the fencing team’s party and brought them to Castiel’s room. She climbed onto the bed beside him and handed him one of the bottles. Castiel still didn’t like the taste of beer, but he’d grown more accustomed to it.

Anna raised her bottle and exclaimed, “Mazel Tov!”

“Mazel Tov,” Castiel echoed as he clinked his bottle against hers.

“Here’s to your comeback,” Anna announced as she took her first swallow.

“A rather poor one,” Castiel murmured. Castiel had finished today ranked tenth in the tournament. He hadn’t done so poorly since freshman year.

“Aw, Castiel, you’re not doin’ too bad.” Her voice grew somber. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault.” Castiel had told everyone that his injuries from the fight had precluded him from attending the past two tournaments.

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel assured her. “And anyone who says otherwise is an asshole.” Anna laughed. “What?”

“You. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard you curse.”

“I curse.”

“And you sound like a guilty little schoolboy when you do it, too. Except for then. You cursed _properly_.”

Castiel snorted. “I suppose I should be flattered?”

“Yes.” She placed her bottle on the bedside table and turned to Cas with serious eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I have this friend. Lisa. Apparently she met Dean at the Halloween party, and now. Well. Now she has the _biggest_ crush on him. I told her I knew you, and she wanted to know if—if you could tell her a little about him.”

“Tell her about him?”

“You know. Just what he likes and stuff. She wants him to ask her out. Which means he needs to like her, and she needs to be what he likes.”

“She’s going to lie?”

“Not exactly. Just. She wants to know what they have in common.” Anna examined him. “Well?”

Castiel pondered Anna’s request. He rubbed the rim of the beer bottle against his lip as a memory flared up, unbidden.

The Halloween party. When Dean had blown the marijuana into his mouth. Their lips had brushed. The contact had been so slight that he doubted Dean had even noticed. But now it loomed large in Castiel’s mind.

_Crave_.

What was he craving? Dean? No. That couldn’t be. Castiel wasn’t attracted to men. He _couldn’t_ be attracted to men. Father would kill him.

_Mine_.

What was his? Dean? No. Yes. Yes, as a best friend, and nothing more.

_No. She can’t have him._

Why not? Dean was undoubtedly straight, and single. If Dean and this Lisa liked each other, why shouldn’t they date? It was selfish to wish otherwise.

Yes. Maybe this Lisa would make Dean happy, and Castiel did want that.

“Okay,” he answered. “What does she want to know?”

Anna beamed. “Great! She wants to get together with us after Thanksgiving Break. How’s that sound?”

“All right.”

Castiel gulped down his beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I estimate 1-2 chapters until Sam stops being a jerk and 3-4 chapters until Dean and Castiel finally realize that, not only do they have feelings for each other, but those feelings are reciprocated. (I wasn't joking when I said there was a slow build. But I have been planning for their realization to be around the middle of the story, so there should be plenty of content about Dean and Cas once they become a couple.)
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome and much appreciated!


	12. Thankful and Thankless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for child abuse. Also, a racist and homophobic remark.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are very welcome. :)

Castiel and Michael prepared the Thanksgiving meal while Father lounged in the living room. Castiel found working with his brother surprisingly tranquil. They exchanged friendly chatter for the first time in what felt like forever. It helped that they both took pride in their work and actually enjoyed cooking.

When the doorbell rang, Michael began setting the table, and Castiel dashed to open the door. On the other side stood Gabriel, who, as usual, had come only at Castiel’s request. He’d threatened not to come, just as he did every year, railing that he didn’t want to see their asshole father and brother. But Castiel pleaded with him, so Gabriel gave in. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times during which Castiel could pretend like he had a healthy family.

“Remember to behave,” Castiel reminded Gabriel as he strolled inside.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try, but don’t blame me if I call them on their bullshit.” Castiel hoped he wouldn’t follow through with that threat.

Gabriel and Castiel proceeded to the dining room, where Castiel helped Michael finish setting up the table. In the interim, Father joined Gabriel at the table, eyeing him with barely disguised contempt. Gabriel’s lip curled up in derision.

“Should I say grace?” Michael offered after he and Castiel settled into their seats.

“Go ahead,” Father said.

Castiel clasped his hands and bowed his head. When Michael was done, he opened his eyes and noticed that Gabriel was staring into the distance. He could have at least pretended to go along with saying grace. There was no need to purposefully antagonize Father.

“Gotta say, this looks delicious,” Gabriel commented as he heaped yams onto his plate. “Good job, baby bro.”

“Michael and I made the food together,” Castiel pointed out.

“Whatever.”

Michael’s nostrils flared. Thankfully, he remained silent on the subject, but his choice of conversation topic wasn’t much better. “Gabriel, Castiel tells me that you have a girlfriend.”

Gabriel’s fork froze midair. “What gave you the right to tell him that, Castiel?” he said sharply.

Castiel flushed. “He asked me, Gabriel. I couldn’t lie.”

“Why not? It’s none of his damn business.”

“It is too my business,” Michael retorted.

“Who is this girl?” Father interjected.

Gabriel cut his eyes at Father and Michael. “I’m not talkin’ about this.”

“Her name is Kali, is it not?” Michael continued.

“Kali?” Father echoed. “Sounds pagan.”

Gabriel released a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Indian, okay?”

“Why didn’t you bring her over?” Michael inquired.

“Are you kidding me? You and dear old Dad would’ve given her hell.”

“Miscegenation is repugnant,” Father agreed. “And if she’s a pagan, she’s going to hell.”

“Oh, my God.”

“But at least she’s a _she._ I’m glad you’ve gotten over this gay nonsense.”

“I’m _bisexual_. How hard is that for you to understand?”

“It is a sin for one man to lay with another. Is that not right, Michael?”

“Yes, according to the Bible,” Michael acknowledged.

“What do you think of the turkey?” Castiel cut in, hoping to steer the conversation back to more neutral territory.

“It’s a little dry,” Father answered.

“Don’t listen to him,” Gabriel replied. “It’s fuckin’ delicious.”

“Kids these days,” Father muttered. “They use such filthy language.”

“Speaking of kids and language,” Michael inserted, “did any of you see the news this morning?” Everyone else shook their heads. “Well. Apparently a man is getting charged with child abuse because he broke his fourteen-year-old son’s arm for saying ‘shit.’”

“The law shouldn’t interfere with parental discipline,” Father declared. “The boy deserved it for his sin.”

Michael shuddered. “I think it sounds awful. There is such a thing as going overboard.”

Gabriel scowled at Michael. “Oh, that’s rich, comin’ from you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not that much different from what Father does, is it?”

“Father is—was—teaching us proper morals. He never did more than what was appropriate.”

Gabriel snorted. “Right. Because shredding Castiel’s hands was _appropriate_.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “What?!” He turned to Father. “I thought that was from a fight.” He looked at Castiel. “Right, baby brother?”

Castiel squirmed in his seat. He wanted nothing more than to hide under the table. He didn’t dare answer Michael for fear of offending Father.

“I said it was his fault,” Father responded, “and I was right. He got into a fight. Not only that, but he’d been drinking and doing drugs.”

Michael’s eyes flitted from Castiel to Father. “But surely that doesn’t warrant incapacitating him—”

Father shrugged. “The wages of sin is death. I would say discipline is better than the alternative, is it not?” Michael frowned.

“Admit it, Father,” Gabriel drawled. “You’re just a sadistic son of a bitch.”

A tenuous silence permeated the air. Father dropped his fork, and Castiel startled at the clatter as the fork hit Father’s plate. “How dare you talk to me like that,” Father seethed in a low voice.

Gabriel shrugged. “I tell it like it is.”

Father shot to his feet. “You deserve to be punished.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You gonna whip a grown-ass man, Daddy-o?”

“You’re right I will.” Father flew out of the room and returned with a switch before Castiel could process what was happening. He swung the switch toward Gabriel’s shoulder, but Gabriel caught his hand. Gabriel stood up and squeezed Father’s wrist until the switch fell to the floor; then he formed a fist with his other hand and punched Father in the nose.

A fight flared up.

Father and Gabriel exchanged blows. Castiel stared for a minute, appalled. Tears filled his eyes. Just once, he would have liked to experience a pleasant family gathering. He bounded to his feet and rushed toward the scuffling pair. “Father! Gabriel!” he pleaded. “Please stop!” He attempted to jump into the fray, determined to pry Father and Gabriel apart, but strong arms dragged him away.

“Let them fight it out, Castiel,” Michael murmured into his ear.

“No!” Castiel wailed. He struggled against Michael’s arms. “Let me go!”

“It won’t do any good.”

Castiel shoved Michael away from him, toward the kitchen cabinets, where his body sank to the ground. “Leave me alone!” Castiel cried.

“Castiel, don’t—”

Everything was so loud and chaotic, and Castiel just wanted it to _go away_. He heard himself begin to hyperventilate. He needed to get out of here. _Now._

“Castiel, where are you going?” Michael shouted after him.

Castiel didn’t know. He raced outside and down the street, putting as much distance between himself and his family as possible. After a few minutes, he realized he was shivering. It was cold, and he was wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt.

As his pace slowed, he noticed where he was. Only two doors away from Dean’s house. Dean. Yes, he would go see Dean. Dean could help him calm down.

He wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks and strode toward the Winchesters’ house. He rang the doorbell, wringing his hands as he waited for someone to answer.

Mr. Winchester opened the door and leveled hateful eyes at him. “Castiel Novak? What are you doing here?”

“Is Dean home?” Castiel asked.

“It’s Thanksgiving. You should be with your family.”

“I—”

“Go home. You're not welcome here.”

Castiel’s heart sank. Of course he shouldn’t be here. How could he have been so stupid? He didn’t want to ruin the holiday for Dean’s family. Tears welled up in his eyes once again. “I’m sorry.”

“John,” a woman inside called. “Who is it?” Footsteps pattered toward the front door, and Mrs. Winchester appeared. “Castiel? You must be freezing, dear. Come inside.”

“Cas?” he heard Dean marvel. Dean joined his mother at the door, his eyes kind like hers. Castiel’s heart swelled with affection. “What’s wrong?”

“Come inside,” Mrs. Winchester repeated.

He stepped over the threshold, and Mr. Winchester glared at the three of them. “He shouldn’t be here,” Mr. Winchester griped. “This is a _family_ holiday. Which means family only.”

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to have Bobby over, but not for Cas to be here?” Dean countered. A gruff old man sat at the kitchen table with Sam. Castiel presumed the man was Bobby.

“That’s different. Bobby has nowhere else to go. Castiel has a family.”

“Yeah, well. Obviously, he ain’t havin’ a great time with them.” He slid soft eyes toward Castiel. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” He led Castiel toward the living room and told him to make himself comfortable on the couch. Mr. Winchester glowered at them before returning to the kitchen.

Mrs. Winchester brought Castiel a fleece blanket and tucked it in around his shoulders. At sixteen, he was probably too old to be coddled, but it felt nice. This was what having a mother felt like. His own mother had been gentle like this before she’d disappeared. The memory of her brought more tears to his eyes.

Dean and Mrs. Winchester disappeared into the kitchen. A second later, Dean returned with two plates, each bearing two slices of pie, one apple and one pecan. Dean settled into the couch next to Castiel and passed him one of the plates and a fork.

“Mom’s pies are the best,” Dean professed as he shoved a forkful of apple pie into his mouth. “Try ’em.”

Castiel cut into the slice of pecan and took a bite. “Mmm. This is delicious,” Castiel agreed.

“Told ya.” They ate in silence for a minute. After he’d finished the slice of apple, Dean studied Castiel. “So, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel wasn’t sure whether he should divulge why he’d run away.

Dean waved a hand at him. “Y’know. What’s wrong? What’d your douchebag dad do?”

Why did Dean automatically assume Father must have done something? Castiel sighed. “I just wish we could all get along for once. We are the only family any of us have. Michael and Gabriel are always at odds with each other, and Father, of course . . . he despises Gabriel,” Castiel sniffled. His eyes met Dean’s. “Gabriel and Father got into a fight.”

“What were they arguin’ about?”

“They were not arguing per se. It was a physical altercation.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Jeez.”

“I tried to make them stop,” Castiel lamented. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. “But Michael wouldn’t let me. And I just—I couldn’t stay there anymore,” he sobbed.

Dean’s eyes were kind. So, so kind. He patted Castiel on the back. “Hey, now. It’s all right.”

Castiel swiped at his eyes. “I wish my family could be normal.”

Dean chuckled bitterly. “I dunno if there’s such a thing as a normal family.”

“Maybe not.”

“But you’ve got me, huh?”

“Yes. Thank you, Dean.”

On this Thanksgiving day, he was grateful for that. He had friends for the first time in his life. Mrs. Winchester had treated him as a mother would.

And he had Dean, who had been the impetus for both of those things.

xxxxxxxxxx

One week after Thanksgiving, Dean headed to the front of the school at the end of the day, as usual. Sam should be done with soccer practice now, and he’d be waiting for Dean. Even though they barely spoke to each other these days, Dean was still Sam’s ride home.

But today, Sam was not waiting for him.

Maybe soccer practice had run late.

Dean jogged toward the soccer field, where the coach was alone, putting away supplies.

“Do you know where Sammy is?” Dean asked him.

The coach shrugged as he tossed a soccer ball into a bag. “No. He didn’t show up for practice.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned. Now that didn’t sound right. Sam was just as serious about soccer as he was about school.

He searched for Sam all across the school grounds, calling out his name. Shit. What kind of trouble had Sam gotten into now?

In a last ditch effort to find Sam, Dean checked inside the bathrooms. In the last one he entered, he heard weeping behind one of the stalls. He thought it sounded familiar.

“Sammy?” Dean ventured.

“Go away,” the occupant snapped. Yep, that was definitely Sam.

Dean forced the door open. Sam glared at him with blood-red eyes. “What’s wrong, Sammy?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“We’ve gotta go home.”

“You go without me.”

“C’mon, Sammy.” He grabbed Sam’s hand, but Sam swatted it away. “I can’t leave ya here.”

“I’m a fucking asshole, Dean. I—I just can’t.”

 _Can’t what?_ Dean felt a sense of foreboding. “I won’t argue with that,” Dean teased. Sam broke into a fresh fit of sobs, and Dean regretted the lame attempt at humor. “Whatever. Let’s go.”

“How can you even look at me?”

“What?”

“I’ve been so shitty to you lately.”

Sam had been shitty all around, but Dean didn’t need to agree with him at the moment, not when he was so clearly in distress. “What happened?” he repeated.

Sam directed a defiant stare at him. Dean gazed back with equal intensity, and eventually Sam averted his eyes and sighed. “It’s Ruby,” he whispered.

“What’d that bitch do?”

“She’s not a—whatever, never mind.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Before soccer practice, I saw her in the guys’ bathroom in D-wing. She and Nick Fallon . . . ” Sam blushed.

It took Dean a minute to process what Sam was saying. “What?!” he exclaimed once he’d got it. “She was fucking her sister’s boyfriend?!”

“No, not exactly. Just . . . making out.”

“Still—”

Sam looked like he wanted to puke. “Yeah.” He shuddered. “And when she saw me, she just _laughed_.”

“Damn. That’s cold.” It hurt to see Sammy sporting such a devastated expression. “I’m sorry.”

Sam wiped his nose. “You tried to warn me she was bad news, but I—I wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s okay, Sam. We all make mistakes.”

“But I really fucked up this time, Dean.” He sounded almost as if he was pleading when he said, “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah. I’m not gonna lie and say you didn’t.” Sam’s face fell. “But that doesn’t matter. What you learn from it, what you do now— _that’s_ more important.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, squirt.” Sam tried to look offended, but Dean could tell it was an act. “Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay.” The gratitude in Sam’s smile melted Dean’s heart.

xxxxxxxxxx

For the first time in a while, Dean enjoyed a congenial evening with Sam.

They hung out in the living room together, watching TV and playing video games once they’d finished their homework. Dean ordered pizza, and they devoured it as they viewed a new episode of _Dr. Sexy_ , Sam rolling his eyes affectionately at Dean’s love for the program.

Sam bounced between happiness and guilt. Now that he reflected back on his time with Ruby, he couldn’t believe the stupid things he’d allowed her to convince him to do. She was the first girl who’d ever shown any interest in him, and he’d found her attractive and witty. He’d wanted to impress her. Plus, she was cool, so dating her made him cool by association.

Sam was heartbroken to discover she didn’t share his devotion. He railed against himself, knowing it was stupid to mourn their relationship now that he’d come to his senses. But he’d liked her so much. No, he’d fallen for an illusion, nothing more, and he hated that he missed something that’d been a lie.

Dean did his best to comfort Sammy. He understood. Lord knew he’d made his share of dumbass mistakes. But then Sam claimed that Dean’s kindness made him feel like even more of a jerk.

“Don’t worry ’bout it, Sammy,” Dean insisted. “I’m just glad to have you back.”

Around ten o’clock, Sam dozed off on the couch. Dean should probably wake him up so he could go to bed. As he contemplated the idea, the front door crashed open.

Shit. He’d forgotten about Dad. Mom had gone out of town this morning, and Dad had been MIA all night. Dean had hoped he’d pass out somewhere before he came home from his latest bender.

Dad stumbled into the living room and glared at the empty pizza box on the table. “You didn’t think to save some for your old man?” he hissed.

“Sorry, I—” Dean began.

Dad slammed his fist on the coffee table, startling Sam awake. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit excuses, Dean-o.”

“Dad?” Sam mumbled.

“You gonna make me some dinner?”

“Sure,” Dean muttered as he stood up. He’d throw a Hot Pocket in the microwave and give it to Dad. Then maybe he’d go to bed, and all would be good.

When the microwave beeped, Dean picked up the plate, carried it to the living room, and held it out toward Dad.

He shoved the plate in Dean’s face. The plate clattered to the floor, cushioned by the carpet. The Hot Pocket hit Dean’s nose before it followed the plate. The sauce burned his skin, and Dean wiped it away.

“You call that dinner, you worthless piece of shit?!” Dad snarled. He seized Dean’s shoulder and shoved him against the wall. “Maybe I’ll teach you a lesson, hmm? Break that pretty face of yours?” Dean flushed at the words. Dad was always pointing out how freakin’ feminine his features were, how Dean needed to make himself look more manly. He’d tried, more for Dad’s sake than anything else, but he couldn’t keep up the charade. Mom said there was nothing wrong with the way he looked, so why bother?

Sam approached. “Dad, stop.”

Dad elbowed him away. “Mind your own business, Sammy!” He turned back to Dean, who merely stared. “Now you—”

Sam hit Dad on the back of the head with the plate, knocking him out.

“What’d you do that for, Sammy?” Dean asked, stunned.

“Seriously?” Sam replied. “He was gonna beat you up, Dean.”

“Whatever. Get your stuff.” They shouldn’t be here when Dad came to.

After they’d gathered what they needed, Dean drove them to Cas’s house. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, and Cas greeted them with a smile.

“Come in,” Cas said. They followed him to his bedroom. He grabbed the air mattress and a few blankets and pillows from the storage closet and brought them into the room. “You can start setting everything up,” he told them. “I must speak with Father for a few minutes.”

“Why do we have to stay here? Castiel’s weird,” Sam complained as he started filling up the air mattress.

“He’s a good guy once you get to know him,” Dean responded. “’Sides, it’s safer than the park in the middle of the night.”

“I guess,” Sam sighed.

“I’m gonna take a piss. Be right back.”

After using the bathroom, Dean paused in the hallway when he heard raised voices.

“You do know you will be punished for this.”

“Yes, Father,” Cas replied.

“Very well. Why can’t you learn your lesson?”

Dean scurried back into the bedroom. He stood still, head reeling at what he’d just overheard. Cas was offerin’ to let them stay here knowing what would happen to him? Fuck. His dad was gonna beat the crap out of him because Dean and Sam had come over.

Cas had said his dad was cool with it, though.

Dean should’ve known better once he’d found out what a sadistic bastard Zachariah Novak was.

“Dean, are you all right?” Cas inquired after he entered the room and closed the door. Sam’s eyes flitted around the room nervously.

“How could you, Cas?” Dean ground out.

“What?”

“You fuckin’ _lied_ to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your dad is fine with it?! Really?!”

Cas winced. “You heard that?” Cas said softly.

“Damn right I did. Cas, you can’t just let us come over like this, not with the shit your dad’ll do to you.”

“Can we not talk about this in front of Sam?” Cas whispered.

“Don’t mind Sam. He won’t squeal. Right, Sammy?” Sam opened his mouth as if to speak, but Dean barreled on. “I can’t believe you kept this from me. Next time Dad’s a jackass, we won’t bother you.”

“You are not bothering me.”

“But we are botherin’ your damn dad.”

“So where will you go? That park?”

“It’ll do.”

Cas drew himself to his full height, eyes ablaze. “You cannot do that, Dean. It is too dangerous. Pontiac Nature Park is in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’ll be fine.”

The expression in Cas’s eyes intensified, and Dean inwardly cringed a little. Cas could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “No. You will come here.”

“Not if your dad’s—”

“That is immaterial.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?—”

“Do you guys mind if I make a suggestion?” Sam squeaked. Dean and Cas turned to him, and he swallowed. “Maybe—maybe we could sneak in through Castiel’s window next time? That way, his dad won’t know.”

“That is a fine idea, Sam,” Cas concurred.

Cas and Sam looked to Dean, and he sighed. “Fine. We’ll do that.” Cas broke into a grin.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel and Dean began their Christmas shopping early, visiting Barnes and Noble on Saturday.

Castiel dreaded today’s trip, for he knew what was coming. Last weekend, he had met with Anna and her friend Lisa. He’d explained Dean’s love for Kurt Vonnegut, and now Lisa planned to be here so she could “accidentally” run into Dean, after which she hoped to finagle him into asking her out on a date.

Castiel followed Dean through the store. “Charlie’s never read anything by Vonnegut. Can you believe it?” Dean remarked as they stopped beside the shelf containing Vonnegut’s books. He crouched down to examine them.

Castiel crouched down beside him. “It does seem strange,” Castiel conceded. “He seems like the sort of author she would like.”

“I know, right? I mean, even you’ve read _Slaughterhouse Five_.”

Castiel snorted. “That was because Mr. Shurley assigned it.”

“And it was a damn good choice. You’ve got to read more of his stuff.”

“I will.”

Dean picked up a copy of _Breakfast of Champions_ and straightened up. Castiel stood up as well then stepped to the side. A second later, Lisa approached. She glanced at the book Dean was holding and asked, “Hey, do they have any more copies of that?”

“Yeah, they’ve got plenty,” Dean answered. He squinted at her. “Hey, I think I know you. Lisa, right? We met at the Halloween party.”

“Yeah, we did!” Lisa exclaimed as if in surprise. Castiel hated her fake giggle. “What was your name again? Dean?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe I bumped into you here, of all places.”

“I know. So, you like Vonnegut, huh?”

“I’ve just started getting into him. I’ve only read _Slaughterhouse Five_ so far.”

“I guess that means you liked it?”

“Liked it? I loved it!”

Castiel experienced a flurry of irrational anger. She’d told Anna and him that she’d _hated_ the book. It was too weird, she’d declared. Yet here she was pretending that she’d _loved_ it just to attract Dean.

She wasn’t worthy of him. Castiel should never have agreed to discuss Dean with her.

Castiel lost track of the conversation, consumed by fury. When his mind returned to the scene in front of him, he heard Dean saying, “So, you wanna get coffee sometime?”

“I’d love to!” Why did her voice have to sound so shrill?

“Great. I’ll call ya.”

They exchanged phone numbers. As Lisa left, Dean turned to Castiel and reddened. “Sorry. I should’ve introduced you guys.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m meetin’ her for coffee next week. Whaddaya think? Do you like her?” He blushed again. “I understand if you don’t. I mean, we kinda ignored you. Sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it. She seems nice.”

Dean smiled. Was Castiel’s approval really that important to him? “Yeah?” Castiel nodded. “Awesome. Glad you like her. ’Course, doesn’t hurt that she’s hot.” He paused then added, “If things work out, I’ll make sure she meets you properly.”

Oh, Castiel already knew Lisa very well. She was the sort who would do whatever it took to attract the man she wanted. She was presenting a lie to Dean, and if he fell for it—well, then he fell for an imaginary person.

He hoped Dean would see through the façade. He didn’t think he could break Lisa and Dean apart without compromising himself.

Dean would despise him if he knew what Castiel had dreamed about last night, the intimate way in which he’d caressed Dean’s cheek.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean enjoyed every minute he spent with Lisa, and before he knew it, they’d been at the coffee shop for three damn hours.

What had they even talked about?

Anything and everything, though he didn’t remember a single word.

And she had the most beautiful smile. Wide and friendly.

He’d thought he’d lost his chance with her when he’d rushed off from the Halloween party, and he was glad to be proven wrong.

When he dropped her off at her house, he walked her to the front door. She leaned back against the brick wall as he placed his lips on hers.

Her lips were moist. She tasted sweet, like flowers. Fresh. He couldn’t help himself, and his lips grew more insistent. Her lips were just as passionate as his.

But then the kiss changed.

Her lips had become chapped.

He tasted a different kind of sweetness.

He experienced déjà vu.

He imagined the barest press of chapped lips and the smoky sweet taste of weed.

He pried his lips away from hers, and she went inside.

In the Impala, he clutched his forehead with both hands.

During the kiss, Lisa had been replaced by someone else.

_Cas?_

_What the fuck?_


	13. Auld Lang Syne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a little bit of Dean/Lisa smut. Also, a homophobic slur, male chauvinism, and emotional abuse from John as well as underage drinking.

After taking a couple of days to recover from his shock, Dean ignored the strangeness of his first kiss with Lisa, the unexpected thoughts of Cas. Cas was his best friend, and he didn’t think of him as anything beyond that. No way, no how. He didn’t even swing that way, so why would he?

At school, he now alternated between sitting with Lisa’s friends and his own. Her friends were all right. The only one Dean really liked was Anna, but he didn’t tell Lisa that, of course.

Lisa, on the other hand, wasn’t shy about sharing her opinion of Dean’s friends. She seemed to think they were all beneath him except for Benny and Jo, but she was still civil to them. Dean figured she just needed to get to know them better. How could anyone resist liking those characters?

She was most puzzled by his friendship with Cas. She didn’t understand what they had in common, and she said Cas made her a little uneasy. He was just a bit _too_ odd, she claimed. That was a big red flag for Dean, but Cas would probably grow on her. After all, Sam had disliked Cas for a while before warming up to him.

After opening night for the school’s second play of the year, _The Producers_ , Dean took Lisa to Angeli’s, a swanky Italian restaurant. Needless to say, she was impressed with his choice. She congratulated him on doing a wonderful job in the play and complimented his singing voice, assuring him he’d stood out even though his part had been small.

Afterward, they drove to Lovers’ Lane. Not really Dean’s idea of a great place to make out, but that’s where everyone went to hook up, and Lisa had chosen the spot.

He smashed his lips onto hers and snaked a hand underneath her shirt, squeezing one breast. She sighed with pleasure and clasped his hand, guiding it to the other breast. She arched her back as he stroked further down, over her stomach and beneath her jeans. He rubbed his dick against her leg as he pushed one, then two fingers inside her. She was so wet and responsive, writhing and moaning.

Dean came in his pants.

Afterward, he was gross and sticky. Fuck yeah he’d enjoyed it, but he almost regretted it now that his boxers were soaked in cum.

Lisa had screamed with her orgasm seconds before Dean had come, and now they both lay in the backseat of the Impala, panting.

Lisa eyed his grimace. “You came, didn’t you?”

He winced. “Yeah.” She giggled. “Hey. It’s not funny.” She just laughed harder. “Fuck. It’s kinda disgusting.”

She cupped a hand over his crotch, stroking over the spot on his jeans. His cock was still too sensitive, and he groaned, half in arousal and half in frustration.

“I think it’s kind of hot,” she declared. He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m serious. Knowing that _I_ did that to you . . . I love it.” She licked the wet area on his jeans, and he shrank back. He couldn’t handle that much stimulation right now.

She snickered.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel liked Lisa less every time he saw her.

It wasn’t just that she wasn’t worthy of Dean, though there was that. There were also little things that irritated him.

Like her attitude. Oh, she was cordial to him and the rest of Dean’s lunch group, but Castiel saw through her. She believed she was better than they were.

He also didn’t like how she seemed to monopolize Dean’s time.

The group had planned to treat Charlie and Dean to supper at the Cheesecake Factory after their first performance in _The Producers_ , but Dean left with Lisa instead. No one had known Dean and Lisa had plans, not even Charlie. She stared after their retreating figures with hard eyes.

“I don’t know why she couldn’t just come with us,” Charlie sniffed.

“I know why,” Benny muttered darkly. “It’s ’cause she thinks we’re a buncha losers.”

“Hey, I think she likes you okay,” Andy pointed out. “But yeah, you’re right.”

Castiel didn’t like the way Lisa looked at him, either. It reminded him of the world before Dean, how everyone had gazed at him with veiled contempt. It made him feel like a speck of dirt. Like he didn’t even belong in this world. The reappearance of that feeling threw him into despair. He told himself that life wasn’t like that anymore, that a few people did enjoy his company now. He forced himself to focus on that thought; otherwise, he would not have been able to function. The anxiety and dread was too overwhelming.

Most of all, he didn’t like the way she always possessively placed a hand on Dean’s arm. It was like she was saying Dean belonged to her and no one else. Like a declaration of war, a gesture to show that one day she would take Dean away from him and the rest of the group.

_Mine_ , a part of him screamed.

Except Dean wasn’t his. He never would be.

He never _could_ be, not if Castiel wanted to avoid Father’s wrath.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean plopped down on the couch next to Sam, who looked forlorn. Sam ignored him, staring at some nature documentary on TV. “Hey, Sammy. You okay?” Dean asked.

Sam glanced at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sure? You don’t look okay.”

“Dammit, Dean,” Sam hurled. “If you want to know, then fine.” Dean flinched at the unexpected harsh tone. Sam sighed and looked apologetic. “Sorry. It’s just. I screwed up so much, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix it.”

“C’mon, Sam,” Dean empathized. “I told you, we’re cool.”

Sam sighed again. “It’s not just you, Dean. Kevin won’t even talk to me anymore.”

“No shit. You did ignore him while you were off chasin’ Ruby.”

“I know. And I don’t deserve for him to forgive me . . . but I miss him.”

Dean pondered the matter for a minute. “But he doesn’t have anyone else to hang out with, does he?”

“That’s just it,” Sam lamented. “He doesn’t need me anymore. He’s got all the other freshman mathletes, and I don’t think they like me.”

“Probably ’cause you were an ass to Kevin.” Sam teared up. “Don’t sweat it, dude.” An idea occurred to Dean. “Listen. I think I know a way you can win all the mathletes over. Kevin, too.”

Sam perked up. “What?”

“Invite them somewhere.”

Sam deflated again. “They don’t want to go anywhere with me.”

“Offer to pay for it. No one doesn’t like free stuff.”

Sam took Dean’s advice to heart, and that was how Dean wound up chaperoning a bunch of fourteen-year-olds at the bowling alley on a Saturday night. He’d asked Lisa to come so he wouldn’t be alone with the squirts, but she’d declined. Cas might’ve agreed to come, but he’d gone out of town for another fencing tournament.

They split into two teams of three. Dean wound up with Kevin and some girl named Channing Ngo while Sam joined with two other dorks, Jake Talley and Jessica Moore.

By the end of the night, Kevin still seemed wary of Sam, but the girl on Sam’s team, Jess, seemed to have warmed up to him. Black cat eye glasses framed her blue eyes, which gave her an adorably quirky look. With the way Sam smiled at her, Dean could tell that his little brother was already developing a crush. It made Dean smile, too. She seemed miles better than Ruby, and if this chick could help Sam move on from the Ruby shitstorm, that’d be awesome.

xxxxxxxxx

Castiel had made an A in English this semester. Thank goodness. With his 4.0 grade point average, he was still in the running for becoming valedictorian. Not only that, but Dean had brought up his trigonometry grade to a low B, which was quite an astonishing feat.

Wonderful Christmas presents indeed.

When Gabriel dropped him off at Andy’s, Castiel pushed his excitement about grades out of his mind. He was here to enjoy his friends’ company. Andy’s parents were out of town, and they were all spending the night here. While they might imbibe alcohol, this would not be anything like the Halloween party, for which Castiel was grateful.

He’d brought a potato salad for the potluck, which he left that in the kitchen after depositing his gifts beside everyone else’s. Dean arrived next, sans Lisa. That puzzled Castiel. Perhaps she was riding with Anna?

But when Anna stepped through the door, only Hannah was with her. Castiel frowned. “Where is Lisa?” he asked.

“She couldn’t come,” Dean answered.

“You mean she didn’t _want_ to come,” Benny countered.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Garth spoke up first. “That’s not nice, Benny. Maybe she’s just busy.”

“Yeah, right,” Charlie muttered.

“That’s unfair. Right, Anna? She’s just busy?”

Anna nodded, expression guarded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Andy dragged a cooler into the living room then passed a beer to everyone but Hannah and Garth. Unlike Hannah, Garth had no qualms about drinking per se, but any amount of alcohol tended to make him a bit loopy, so he avoided consuming it.

“So, what should we do first?” Jo posited. “Eat or open presents?”

“Presents,” Dean answered promptly. He used his teeth to pry the cap off of his bottle; then he spit it on the floor. Jo and Charlie looked askance at him. “What?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Any objections?” No one replied. “Okay. Presents it is.”

They fanned into the living room, where Anna and Hannah passed out gifts to everyone. Castiel hoped his friends liked what he’d bought for them. Since Gabriel had been his money source, he hadn’t been able to afford much.

Everyone tore open their gifts. Andy had given Castiel some hard cider. He would have to store that in Gabriel’s apartment. Hannah had bought him the first Harry Potter book, and Anna had given him the second one. Garth gave him a coupon for a free dental checkup at his parents’ practice. Everyone else had received the same thing, and they groaned, not unkindly. Castiel’s regular dentist wasn’t very good, however, so he looked forward to redeeming the coupon.

Benny and Jo gave out joint gifts. The others teased them for being lovebirds. To everyone’s amusement, Jo responded with her middle finger.

Their box for Castiel contained two movies, _Pulp Fiction_ and _Reservoir Dogs_. Benny, Jo, and Dean occasionally made references to those films, but Castiel had never viewed them.

“You have _got_ to finally see those, Cas,” Jo declared.

Dean eyed the items in Castiel’s hands. “Yeah. Just don’t watch ’em with your dad around. He’ll get on your case about the violence and cursing.”

“Okay,” Castiel replied. “I will keep them at Gabriel’s.”

“Awesome.”

From Charlie, Castiel received all three books comprising _The Lord of the Rings_ plus _The Hobbit_. Thanks to his friends, he’d seen _The Lord of the Rings_ films, and he was eager to start reading the books.

Castiel had saved Dean’s present for last. He knew that Dean had bought a book for everyone else, and judging by the shape of the package, he had purchased one for Castiel as well. He wondered what Dean had chosen for him. The others had seemed happy with Dean’s selections for them, and Castiel didn’t doubt that Dean had also gifted him with something to his taste.

When Dean noticed Castiel unwrapping the object, he set aside the present he’d picked up and observed Castiel. For some reason, Castiel’s stomach fluttered at the attention.

Underneath the paper, Castiel discovered a tan leather-bound journal. He ran a finger over the front and reveled in the feel of the material. He flipped through the pages and noticed some of them were already covered in writing. Curious, Castiel turned to the first page. In an elegant script, it read, “Dictionary of Normal-People Speak.”

The following pages listed many slang expressions and their definitions, all of which had confused Castiel when they’d popped up in a conversation with Dean. Dean had left the last half of the journal blank so Castiel could document more terms.

Castiel glanced up at Dean, whose face had reddened. “I know it’s not much of anything, but I thought maybe . . . um, it could be useful or somethin'.”

“Dean, it’s lovely,” Castiel replied. He smoothed a thumb over the journal’s spine. He was awed by how much thought Dean had put into the gift and how much time he must’ve spent filling in the pages.

“Yeah?” Dean ventured hesitantly.

“Yes. Thank you, Dean.” Castiel hugged the journal to his chest. Tears started to his eyes, and he blinked them away. He didn’t want Dean to accuse him of being overly sentimental.

Dean grabbed the present Castiel had bought for him. “What’d you get me?”

“Open it.” Castiel’s insides quivered. What if Dean hated his gift?

Dean ripped open the wrapping paper and revealed a beginner’s calligraphy set. Dean had once made a passing remark about wanting to learn calligraphy. Even though Dean had never mentioned the matter again, Castiel had heard the earnestness in his voice. He hoped he hadn’t chosen the wrong gift.

Dean frowned down at the set. Castiel felt his stomach drop. “Do you not like it? I can return it and get you something else.—”

Dean raised his eyes to Castiel and grinned. “No, Cas. It’s perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey. Is everyone ready to eat?” Jo yelled over the din. The noise dissipated as everyone turned to gaze at her.

Hannah surveyed the paper littering the floor. “Maybe we should clean up first.”

“Seriously?”

“Would you rather clean up later?” Anna asked.

“Fine.”

Andy and Garth retrieved the garbage bags from the kitchen. Everyone hurried to throw the trash away. When they were finished, Andy took the garbage to the trash can outside; then the group moved into the kitchen, where the food awaited them.

“I vote we eat dessert first,” Dean said. He pointed at one of the items laid out on the cabinet. “I brought Mom’s world famous caramel apple pie.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Says the caveman.”

“What?” His eyes darted to Benny. “C’mon. You love that pie. Don’t tell me you don’t want to dig into it already.”

Benny snorted. “I ain’t goin’ against her, pal. She’s scary when she’s angry.” Jo glared at him. “I mean it in a good way, babe.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re cute when you make that face.”

“Gross,” Charlie inserted. “Get a room.”

Jo waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe we will. Later. Right, Andy?”

“We’ve got plenty of them,” Andy affirmed.

“Ugh. I _so_ did not need to hear that,” Charlie replied.

After Andy set out the plates and silverware, everyone piled food onto their plates. Dean and Benny rushed through their dinner and cut themselves a slice of caramel apple pie as soon as they’d finished. When Castiel had polished off everything on his plate, he grabbed a piece as well. He wished to know why Dean had been raving so much about it. Besides, he remembered Mrs. Winchester’s Thanksgiving pies, and those had indeed been delicious.

He took a bite and soon understood why Dean and Benny loved it so much. He ate the slice slowly, savoring the divine taste.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean sighed inwardly after opening the first present from his parents. An Axe gift set. Dean had no doubt about who’d decided to buy that for him. Lisa had gotten him the same thing, but with a different scent. He’d grinned up at her and hoped she couldn’t perceive his disappointment.

“Well?” Lisa’d prompted him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s great, Lise,” he’d assured her.

She had looked relieved. “Good. I was afraid you might take it the wrong way . . . ”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly, it had occurred to him that Cas would punctuate the question with his signature head tilt. He’d suppressed the urge to smile; Lisa would’ve asked about it.

She blushed. “Now, I’m not saying you smell bad . . . you smell good, in fact. Just . . . it would be nice if you could sometimes smell more manly, y’know?”

Dean had been wounded by the remark, but he kept his feelings to himself. How he smelled . . . it had just seemed a bit trivial to him, and the fact that Lisa cared so much about it . . . it saddened him. He didn’t want to lose her over something like that, though.

So he’d nodded and said, “I understand.”

When Dean had come home and explained about the gift to Mom and Dad, Dad had agreed with Lisa. “You’re not a kid anymore, Dean-o. Time to think about bein’ a man.”

“John!” Mom had exclaimed. She’d swatted him on the arm. “There’s no right or wrong way to be a man,” Mom had told Dean.

“’Course there is,” Dad had disagreed. “If you want society to respect you, Dean, you’ve gotta assert your masculinity.”

“That’s alpha male nonsense,” Mom had sniffed.

“Hey, I don’t see you raisin’ any objections to the way I do things.”

Mom’s eyes had hardened. “But I used to, remember? Before you got your act together. If you pulled that male authority shit on me again.—”

“Oh, not this again! Hold one mistake against a guy, would ya?”

“John—”

“Shut up. Dean doesn’t want to hear about this ancient crap.” He had turned to Dean. “Right?”

“Um . . . ” Dean had murmured, unsure of what to say. Actually, he’d been quite interested. He hadn’t known that Mom and Dad still occasionally fought like this.

Mom had risen from the couch. “I’ve gotta get dinner ready, anyway.”

“I like your girlfriend,” Dad had said once Mom was out of the room. “She actually bought you somethin’ useful. Not some sissy gay shit your stupid friend. You can’t seriously be thinking about taking up calligraphy?”

Dean had swallowed. He’d known Dad would think his curiosity about calligraphy was dumb, but lately, it had piqued his interest. All that beautiful script, like artwork—it was mesmerizing, and Dean wanted to try it out. “Um. Yeah. It looks pretty cool.—”

Dad had groaned. “You’ve had some idiotic hobbies in the past, but this one takes the cake.”

And now, here was Dad sending him the same message yet again. Be a man, Dean-o. Smell like men do. Act like men do. Dress like men do.

Men dominate, Dean. Bend everything to your will. Take what’s yours, and everything is yours.

Women want you to subdue them. Any girl who says no is a liar. She wants it. She wants _you_ to conquer her.

Dad had actually told him that once. He’d been drunk, but still. Dean knew that Dad wholeheartedly believed in those words, even when he was sober.

Dean had felt a little sick after hearing him spout them.

But Mom was right. There was no set way to be a man. Just be yourself, and that was all that mattered.

Dad certainly didn’t attempt to dominate Mom. Probably because he knew she wouldn’t stand for it.

Sometimes, Dean didn’t understand how their marriage worked. What had drawn them to each other?

Dean received many wonderful presents on this Christmas day, and as usual, Mom had prepared a fantastic meal. But throughout the day, the friggin’ Axe kit stayed in his mind. The Axe kit, and what it represented—Dad’s determination to mold Dean into his image of a man.

xxxxxxxxxx

Gabriel didn’t come over for Christmas.

Even if he’d succumbed to Castiel’s pleas to join the family, he wouldn’t have been welcome. Father had made that perfectly clear.

So Castiel and Gabriel spent Christmas Eve together. They played video games on the Playstation 2 Gabriel had finally scraped up enough money to buy. It was Gabriel’s gift to himself and Castiel.

Castiel had snorted at Gabriel’s declaration. “Do not pretend as if your decision to purchase this console has anything to do with me.”

“Okay, maybe I did just want it really bad,” Gabriel had conceded. “But you’ve also gotta learn how to play video games. I mean, everyone knows that, Castiel. You’ve played, what, a handful of times at Dean’s house?” Castiel gazed back at Gabriel silently. Gabriel slapped him on the back. “Consider this yours, too. Seriously.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Castiel had replied, impressed by Gabriel’s sincerity.

Christmas at home with Michael and Father was, for the most part, a dull affair. Michael and Castiel prepared the meal, just as they had during Thanksgiving. After lunch, they opened presents. Castiel had bought ties for Michael and Father, and Michael had bought Father a new dress shirt. Both Michael and Castiel received Bible commentaries from Father.

“A reminder to stay on the path of righteousness. These books will ensure you understand what that means,” Father explained.

“Thank you, Father,” Michael replied. “That is very thoughtful.”

Castiel was surprised when he uncovered Michael’s gift for him. He gaped at the books, the third through fifth ones in the Harry Potter series.

“You told me your friends got you the first two,” Michael elaborated. “When you finish those, you’ll want to read the next ones.”

“How do you know I will like them?” Castiel asked.

“Trust me. You’ll love them.”

“Why would you buy those books for Castiel?” Father griped. “They’re about magic. Ungodly things.”

“They’re nothing of the sort,” Michael scoffed. Father opened his mouth to protest, but Michael continued, “They do contain magic, of course. But that doesn’t make them ungodly. After all, Tolkien was a devout Christian, and he wove his beliefs into _Lord of the Rings_. Which contains magic.”

“You’ve read Harry Potter and _Lord of the Rings_?” Castiel marveled.

“Yes, and I liked them very much.”

“Well,” Father interjected, “if you say these books are okay, they’re fine with me. I trust your judgment, Michael.”

“Thank you,” Michael responded. He turned to Castiel, his eyes sparkling. “Now, you have quite a bit of reading to do, don’t you?” Castiel smiled and nodded.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel, Dean, and their friends did not attend a raucous New Year’s Eve party, but they did congregate at Anna’s house, along with some of her other friends, including Lisa. Anna’s parents had gone to a New Year’s Eve party of their own, so the high schoolers had the place to themselves.

Castiel refilled his cup from the keg and sipped the beer. He felt a little uncomfortable right now. Everyone else was chatting with each other, and Dean had barely spoken to him all evening, electing to spend most of his time with Lisa instead.

“Hey, they’re about to drop the ball,” Hannah announced from the couch. She was alone, too. Why hadn’t Castiel noticed?

“Pfft, who cares. It’s just a dumb ball,” Benny commented.

“It won’t even be the New Year here yet,” Jo pointed out.

“But the ball is an American tradition,” Hannah argued.

“I’ll watch it with you,” Castiel declared as he joined her on the couch.

“Thanks, Castiel.”

Castiel squinted at the TV, studying the Times Square scene. An elderly gentleman appeared on the screen; the script running along the bottom of the television advertised his name as Dick Clark.

“I am not sure if I have ever seen this,” Castiel said.

“Seriously? You’ve never seen the ball drop?”

“No.” The camera panned to a glittering silver ball.

“Not even when you were little? Mom and Dad and I used to watch it together every year.” She exuded happiness at the memory. Castiel shook his head. “Well. You’ll see it now.”

“Yes.”

“They’re starting,” Hannah squealed. A loud countdown commenced as the ball lowered. _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one_ and the ball reached the ground. The crowd in Times Square cheered, some breaking out into a chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.” A few couples flung themselves into a deep kiss.

Benny was right, Castiel decided. Watching a ball drop wasn’t particularly exciting. Then again, observing the spectacle unravel was intriguing. Confetti had fallen, coating the entire scene, which went along perfectly with the joyous bustle. Fireworks covered the sky. Seeing everyone look so happy and hopeful for a new year . . . there was something special about it.

“That was wonderful!” Hannah gushed, her eyes slightly wet.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed.

As midnight approached, everyone moved outside. Hannah drifted off to talk to Anna, and Charlie, Garth, and Andy readied the fireworks. Jo and Benny were occupied with each other, and Lisa’s friends pointedly ignored him when he glanced in their direction. He finally spotted Dean, but Lisa captivated his attention.

Castiel sighed and sank onto the front steps, taking in the scene before him. He resigned himself to watching the fireworks alone when the clock struck midnight.

“Okay!” Charlie yelled. “It’s comin’ up! And ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one!” She set off the first fireworks, and Andy and Garth soon followed suit.

Hues of reds and purples and greens and blues lit up the sky, the colors radiating from all corners of the neighborhood. Castiel gaped at the display. He couldn’t recall ever seeing anything more beautiful.

But then he got distracted by something he saw out of the corner of his eye.

Dean’s lips were firmly pressed to Lisa’s. Tongue figured into the kiss; he could perceive that even from here. Lisa’s back was against the wall, Dean’s hands gripping her shoulders. One hand stroked over her neck and snaked into her hair. His body was molded to hers and—

Castiel felt faintly sick.

“Cas?” he heard someone say behind him.

He turned around and found himself facing Hannah. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

Castiel frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hannah sat down next to him. “You just look a bit pale.”

“I am fine.”

Hannah’s eyes traveled up to the sky. “Lovely, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” Castiel forced himself to focus on the fireworks.

xxxxxxxxxx

Lisa was hot, no question. And their fondling and makeout sessions . . . those were _damn_ hot. So what if some things about her occasionally bothered Dean? Like her continued dislike of Cas and her disdain for most books. At least she enjoyed Vonnegut, which meant she had good taste.

She was a nice girl. She had beautiful warm brown eyes and long brown hair. Her skin was delicious, and she wasn’t shy about letting him see her bangin’ body.

Still, when he pulled up to a secluded area in Lovers’ Lane on the night before they were due to return to school, he was surprised at just how far she was willing to go. They tasted each other deeply and gradually stripped until all of their clothes had been unceremoniously tossed to the floor of the Impala.

She rubbed a thumb over his slit, and he moaned. She rubbed faster, over the space up and down his shaft, and precum soon leaked out.

“Fuck me, Dean,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered with desire.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He didn’t want her to feel like they needed to rush into things.

She squeezed his dick. He yelped. God, that was hot, but it still hurt. “I’m not some blushing virgin.” Her eyes hardened. “Unless you are?”

“Me?” Dean winced at the high pitch in his voice. “Nope.” He didn’t have much experience, but he certainly wasn’t a virgin. He crawled into the front seat and dug in the Impala’s glove box until he found a few condom packets. He grabbed one and returned to the backseat.

“I’m ready,” Dean told her.

“Good.” She snatched the condom packet from him and ripped it open with her teeth. He noticed something feral in her expression and shivered with desire. She rolled the condom onto his cock then lay back on the seat. “Now. Do it.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. They skipped most of the foreplay since they’d already had plenty of it. Dean set a grueling pace, which she easily matched. He fucked into her, deeper, deeper, and she rose up to meet him, screaming, practically begging for him to shove himself in farther. Sweat broke out on his brow and coated strands of her hair. She firmly gripped his shoulders, nails digging into them.

She eventually sighed, clearly sated. Dean couldn’t hold off any longer. He closed his eyes as he sucked a kiss onto her neck. Then finally, with a flash of sapphire, he came, groaning. His eyes flew open and bore into hers. They looked appalled. “What?” he mumbled as he pulled out, drew off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into a nearby plastic bag.

“Oh, _my_ God,” she breathed.

Dean wrinkled his forehead, even more bewildered now. “What?”

“You have a crush on him.”

“What?” Dean laughed as an uncomfortable feeling settled into his stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You have a crush. On your weirdo friend.”

“Cas isn’t a weirdo.” Lisa’s eyes widened, and he realized he’d all but confirmed her words. But he didn’t have a crush on Cas. Did he?

“Oh, God. You totally do.”

“No, I don’t. Why would you even think that?”

“Get off me.” Dean made no move to do so. She glared at him, and he assented. “You. You . . . oh, God . . . you screamed his name, Dean.” Her voice sounded small. “When you came. You screamed his name.”

“What?”

She grabbed her clothes and scrambled out of the Impala. Dean tumbled after her. “If you think I want to see you anymore after _that_ —”

“I’m sorry, Lise.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Right. Whatever. We’re done.” She finished putting her clothes on and stalked away.

“Lise—” Dean called after her.

She spun around and scowled at him. “Don’t worry, Dean,” she snarled. “I won’t tell anyone your dirty little secret.”

“At least let me take you home.”

“No.”

She spun around, and just like that, she was gone.


	14. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for one homophobic insult. Also, while no child abuse is shown in this chapter, it is referred to.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are welcome, and thanks for reading!

Dean rubbed bleary eyes as he joined his friends at the lunch table on their first day back at school. Since it was the middle of winter, it was too damn cold to eat outside, so everyone was crammed into the cafeteria. It made Dean claustrophobic. That, combined with the fact that he’d barely slept last night, meant that Dean felt pretty shitty.

“Where’s Lisa?” Garth asked as Dean dug his sandwich out of a paper bag.

Dean glanced up at the others. “What?” he mumbled. “Oh. We broke up.”

“Thank God,” Benny huffed.

Jo slapped him on the arm. “Benny,” she warned.

“What? She—” Jo glared at him, and he shut his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Garth commiserated.

“Yeah, Dean,” Charlie chimed in. “We’re all sorry to hear it.”

Dean barely processed any of their words. “Yeah, whatever,” he said tonelessly.

“You wanna talk about it?” Andy offered.

Charlie elbowed him. “Obviously not. Look at him.” She placed a supportive hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, Dean,” she sighed.

“Whatever,” Dean repeated. He concentrated on his sandwich even though he wasn’t hungry. As he ate, he avoided looking in Cas’s direction. He couldn’t face him right now; last night’s memories were too fresh.

The bell rang, and everyone sprang to their feet. Dean ignored the others and strode toward the exit on autopilot, but a hand on his wrist arrested his motion.

“Dean,” an unmistakably familiar voice intoned.

He whirled around to face his best friend. His best friend, dammit. _Not_ his crush. “What?” he snapped. Cas flinched at his tone, and Dean immediately regretted it.

Cas studied him, and shit, why did his blue eyes _always_ have to be so fuckin’ intense? “Are you all right?”

“’Course,” Dean scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just broke up with your girlfriend.”

Dean released a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “We had sex, y’know. Right before it happened.”

Cas paled. “What?”

Crap. Why the hell had Dean said _that_? TMI much? He turned away from Cas and pointed out, “We should get to class.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Of course Lisa and Dean had engaged in sexual intercourse. What had Castiel expected? Couples usually did have sex.

Still, after hearing Dean admit it aloud, Castiel had momentarily lost his capacity to breathe.

Knowing that the object of his affection had done something so intimate with another person . . .

The object of his affection?

Yes. He should stop denying it, at least to himself.

He couldn’t handle going to class right now, so he scurried to the restroom and locked himself in a stall. This was the first time he’d ever skipped class, and thinking of the reason for it . . . he hated himself.

How could he have been so stupid? Why had he allowed himself to become romantically attached to Dean? He’d seen the disaster coming, yet he’d done nothing to try to stop it.

And all along, he’d _known_ those feelings were futile. Dean was straight, for God’s sake. He would be disgusted if he knew how Castiel truly felt about him.

Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Tears started to his eyes. No. _No_. Don’t be a baby. You knew this was coming. You damn well _knew_.

The tears streamed down his cheeks, and he balled his hands into fists.

He unleashed his rage on the stall door’s lock, punching it over and over again. The skin on his knuckles split open, but he didn’t stop.

Not until he heard someone step inside the bathroom.

He abruptly ceased all motion and firmly clamped his mouth shut, striving not to make a sound. He listened as the newcomer peed then washed his hands. As the person switched off the sink, a sob escaped Castiel.

“Hey. You all right in there?” the person shouted. Castiel recognized the voice as Mr. Turner’s. He couldn’t prevent another sob. Footsteps approached, and then the door was kicked open. Mr. Turner gaped at him. “Castiel?”

Castiel attempted a smile. “Hello, Mr. Turner.”

His eyes scanned Castiel, pausing at his hands. “Christ. What happened to you?” Castiel declined to answer. Mr. Turner sighed and held out a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”

Castiel allowed Mr. Turner to lead him out of the bathroom. They strode toward the school’s front office in silence. When they had almost reached it, Mr. Turner announced, “You know I’m gonna have to tell your dad about this, right? Because you were skipping class.” Castiel nodded, and Mr. Turner gave him a pitying look.

Mr. Turner left him alone with the school nurse while she bandaged his knuckles. When Castiel ventured back into the main office, Father was there, standing beside Mr. Turner.

“Castiel,” Father seethed. “You know that skipping class is an egregious offense. You shall be punished when we get home.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Go easy on the boy, Zachariah,” Mr. Turner inserted. He eyed Castiel. “Something is obviously bothering him.”

“That doesn’t give him a right to skip class,” Father argued.

“I’m not saying don’t discipline him. Just—help him, too.”

“Don’t tell me how to parent my own child.”

Mr. Turner gave Castiel a sympathetic look then glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for sixth hour. Gotta go.”

Castiel hoped Father wouldn’t force him to go to sixth hour. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Dean at the moment. He didn’t think he could endure it.

Luckily, Father didn’t. Instead, he ordered Castiel to sit in his classroom during sixth hour because he wanted to keep a close eye on his son. At home, Father would bring out the switch, but at least this was a small mercy.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel couldn’t bear to eat lunch with Dean.

When he stepped into the cafeteria, he didn’t even glance at the table he knew his friends were occupying. Instead, he found a small empty table in a corner and plopped down in a chair. As he pulled his peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of a Ziploc bag, he spied Charlie and Hannah approaching him.

“Cas?” Charlie said. “What’re you doing over here?”

“Eating,” Castiel answered curtly.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Well, _duh_. But why aren’t you sitting with us?”

“I cannot talk to Dean right now.”

“What? Why? What’d he do to you?”

“I just cannot,” Castiel said flatly. Charlie and Hannah deposited themselves in two of the other chairs at the table. “What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“Sitting with you,” Charlie replied.

“Why?”

“Because you’re our friend.”

Castiel experienced a surge of anger. Neither she nor Hannah was his friend, not really. They’d never even spoken to him before this year. “No, I’m not.”

“What? Of course you are.”

“You only talk to me because of Dean.”

“That’s not true.” Castiel gave her a skeptical look. “Okay, maybe that was why we talked to you at first. But once we got to know you . . . we realized you were pretty awesome.”

“Yeah,” Hannah echoed.

“Really?” Castiel marveled.

“Really,” Charlie repeated. “And seriously. We’re not letting you eat alone, pal.”

Castiel smiled, touched. Perhaps Charlie and Hannah truly did like him for who he was.

Castiel dreaded sixth hour. Dean would be there at the desk next to him. He considered finding another seat, but it was too late in the year for that. Someone was bound to castigate him for stealing their spot.

In English, Castiel took his seat and carefully avoided looking at Dean. He hoped that Dean would leave him alone, but he had no such luck.

“Cas,” Dean said. “What was that during lunch?”

Castiel turned a sharp gaze to Dean and snapped, “Don’t talk to me.”

Dean looked taken aback. “What?”

Castiel ignored him and poised his pen above a piece of paper. The bell had just rung, and Mr. Shurley was about to begin lecturing.

“Cas, what’s goin’ on? Why’re you mad at me?” Dean whispered.

“I told you not to talk to me,” Castiel whispered back.

Mr. Shurley paused in the middle of his opening remarks. “Castiel, Dean, did you have something you wanted to share with the class?” The other students snickered.

Dean pasted on a polite smile. “No, sir.”

“Okay, then keep it down.” Mr. Shurley resumed his lecture.

After English, Castiel distanced himself further from Dean. Dean kept trying to catch up with him, so Castiel ducked into a bathroom. Thankfully, Dean didn’t follow him inside.

In order to escape the pain, he had to sever the connection with Dean.

In fencing, he didn’t spare one glance for Dean. He concentrated on practicing his technique. During the fall semester, he had missed two tournaments and placed poorly in a couple of other ones. As a result, he was now ranked tenth in the state. Since only the top eight individuals qualified for the state championship tournament, he was dangerously close to missing it. This semester, there would be no room for mistakes.

xxxxxxxxxx

As soon as Dean arrived at school, Charlie and Hannah cornered him. Sam stood nearby, not doing anything to help him out, the little shit.

“What did you do to Cas?” Charlie demanded.

“What?” Dean responded. Dammit. What had Cas told Charlie and Hannah? Why the hell was he angry with him?

Charlie folded her arms over her chest and scowled.

“I didn’t do anything to him!” Dean exclaimed.

“Yeah, right. Then why won’t he talk to you?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know!”

“Well, you must’ve done _something_.”

“Why do you think it’s my fault?”

“Because I know you, Dean.”

Fuck this shit. Was Charlie really implying he was a Grade A douchebag?

“And we know Cas,” Hannah added.

“Whatever.”

“Call us when you’re ready to give up the bullshit,” Charlie concluded. She and Hannah marched away.

Dean eyed Sam. “Way to help a guy out, Sammy.”

Sam studied him. “So. What _did_ you do to Cas?”

Dean’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Seriously? You, too? You used to hate Cas.”

“That was back when I had my head up my ass about Ruby. He’s a good guy, Dean. Don’t let anything come between you two.”

“It’s not _me_ , goddammit. He’s the one givin’ me the silent treatment.”

“Then find out what’s bothering him and patch things up.”

Dean sighed. “He’s gotta talk to me first.”

The bell rang, warning students that first hour would begin in five minutes. Dean and Sam scrambled to class.

Dean didn’t pay much attention during the first three class periods. Instead, he rehearsed what he might say to Cas. During lunch, Cas chose a table in the corner just as he had yesterday. Charlie and Hannah glanced at Dean before joining him.

Dean thought about approaching Cas then. He even made to stand up, but he caught himself at the last second. He heard his breathing grow shallow as nerves hit him. He rubbed sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans and surveyed the others at his lunch table. They didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, thank God.

Lunch ended before Dean could gather enough courage to confront Cas. Oh, well. He’d see him in English, anyway.

In sixth hour, Mr. Shurley gave out an assignment for people to work on in pairs. As usual, Cas was Dean’s partner. But Cas was all business; he didn’t even flash that little almost smile Dean always found endearing. He kept trying to initiate a real conversation with Cas, but the guy’s attention never wavered from their worksheet.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Dean hissed.

Cas’s eyes slid up from the worksheet. He blinked. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Oh, don’t give me that I’m-so-innocent bullshit!” Dean retorted a little too loudly. A few students nearby eyed them nervously.

“Dean,” Cas warned when he noticed people looking their way. “We have work to do.”

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Dean sighed.

Cas continued to ignore Dean’s overtures for the rest of the day. _Maybe that’s a good thing_ , Dean reflected as he drove Sammy and himself home. With distance between himself and Cas, his fleeting attraction, the one that had ruined his relationship with Lisa, might fade. And that would be for the best. Because liking Cas as more than a friend . . . it was a recipe for disaster.

xxxxxxxxx

Castiel was grateful for Charlie and Hannah’s company. Even though he had been willing to sit alone to extricate himself from Dean, eating by himself would have been desolate. As he spoke with Charlie and Hannah, Anna strolled toward their table. She stopped behind the girls and asked, “Do you mind if I sit with you guys?”

“’Course not,” Charlie replied. Hannah nodded.

Anna’s eyes roved toward Castiel. “You are quite welcome here,” he reassured her. She smiled gratefully and took a seat between Hannah and Castiel.

“What happened to your normal group?” Charlie inquired.

Anna sighed. “They’re mad at me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Lisa broke up with Dean.”

“What’s that gotta do with you?”

Anna shook her head. “I’m not sure. It’s just—whatever happened between them, the break-up must’ve been bitter. And you—” She bestowed Castiel with a sorrowful look. “—she _despises_ you.”

“Me?” Castiel gasped. He’d known Lisa disliked him, but _despise_ —that was such a strong word. “Why?”

“I don’t know. She won’t say. But—she gave me an ultimatum. Said I could either be friends with you or her. I told her I wouldn’t stop talking to you, so she turned the group against me.”

“You chose me over her?” Castiel marveled.

“She was being an ass,” Anna pointed out. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“For what?”

“You helped her win Dean, but as soon as she had him, it was like she didn’t want anything more to do with you. And now this—I didn’t know she could be so nasty.”

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” Castiel mused.

“Sometimes I wonder how you can be so nice.”

“Well, look-y here!” a Scottish-accented voice shouted. “If it isn’t Castiel Novak and his harem.”

Castiel turned around to face the source, Crowley. He stood with Meg, and both individuals glared at the group. Castiel had heard they were dating; apparently, it was true.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Charlie spat.

Meg raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I forgot. You’re the lesbo. Still bet you let Castiel participate in orgies with you and your girls here.” She hooked a thumb at Hannah and Anna.

“Ooh. It’s always the goody-goody types who enjoy sick sex,” Crowley added.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hannah snapped. Crowley’s and Meg’s eyes widened, and everyone else at the table stared at Hannah. Castiel had never heard her sound so combative. He hadn’t thought she _could_ be that combative.

“Excuse me?” Crowley drawled.

“Leave us alone.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll be sorry.”

“What’re you gonna do, pour water on my head?” Crowley sneered.

“Something like that.”

Meg snorted. “Ooh, I’m so scared.”

Hannah grabbed her water bottle and flung some liquid onto Meg’s black leather jacket.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Meg cried, gaping at the water spilling down the front of her jacket. “You ruined it.”

“I thought you weren’t afraid of a little water,” Hannah simpered.

Meg’s hands curled into fists, but before she could strike, Mr. Turner waltzed over. “Is there a problem here?” he interjected.

Crowley threw on a fake smile. “No, sir.”

“I hope not.”

Crowley and Meg stalked away, and Mr. Turner proceeded through the cafeteria.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Castiel declared. For some reason, the others burst into a fit of giggles.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel missed Dean.

He realized he couldn’t face a whole semester without speaking to him. Sure, he had survived for sixteen years without Dean, but that was before he had experienced life with Dean as his friend. They had shared everything with each other, and Castiel was tired of having to keep things to himself.

He knew he would join Dean for lunch when Sam ambushed him one day shortly before school.

“I don’t know what happened,” Sam railed, “but whatever it is, you and Dean have to let it go. He _needs_ you, Cas. He hasn’t been the same since school started.—”

“Perhaps that is because he broke up with Lisa,” Castiel suggested.

Sam pointed a finger at him. “No. I know my brother, Cas. Yeah, breaking up with Lisa sucked, but that’s not what he’s so worked up about. It’s because he doesn’t have _you_ anymore. I can tell. It’s just . . . it’s the way he acts when anyone mentions your name.”

Dean stared at Sam, mouth agape. Could he really mean that much to Dean? Yes, Dean had once said Castiel was his best friend, but even so—Sam was exaggerating, surely?

Regardless, Castiel needed Dean. He would apologize; then Dean and he could be friends again.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean was astonished when Cas joined him for lunch. He must’ve gotten over whatever Dean had done to piss him off.

“Dean,” Castiel began. “I’m sorry. I behaved abominably toward you during this past week. Can you forgive me?”

Dean studied Cas. He couldn’t be friends with him, not anymore. It would stir up feelings best left buried, his infatuation, not gay, of course . . .

Wait. No use lying to himself. You didn’t come with your best friend’s name on your lips if you didn’t have a big gay crush on him . . . and there was nothing wrong with having that crush.

But what would Cas think? Would he be okay with it?

Fuck no. He wouldn’t touch Dean with a ten-foot pole.

Dean couldn’t let him know how he felt, and the only surefire way to do that was to push him away.

So Dean answered, “No.”

Cas flinched. “What?” he breathed.

“I said no.” He narrowed his eyes at Cas. “I don’t know what it was you were pullin’, but it’s not gonna fly with me, pal. You screw with me, it’s the adios.”

Cas looked so stricken that Dean almost took back his words. “Do you mean that?”

“Yeah, Cas. I do.”

Cas gathered his stuff and migrated to his table in the corner. Charlie and Hannah stood up and scowled at Dean.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Charlie growled. “He was trying to apologize, and you acted like an asshole.”

“He was givin’ me the cold shoulder for no frickin’ reason, Charlie. He can’t get away with that shit.”

“He must’ve had a reason,” Hannah interjected. “And he was willing to let bygones be bygones. Why can’t you?”

Charlie and Hannah stalked away before Dean could answer. It was just as well. He didn’t know what he would’ve said, anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxx

All week, Dean had rebuffed every attempt Castiel had made to mend the rift between them. In English and fencing, he wouldn’t say a word to Castiel unless they were working together on an assignment. If he approached Dean during lunch, Dean acted as if he wasn’t even present. He’d even tried calling Dean several times, but he was always “busy.”

He decided to confront Dean at his house. It was the only option he had left.

Castiel found Father in the living room, where he was watching the news. “Father?” he called from the doorway.

Father turned to face him. “Yes, Castiel?”

“Dean has one of my notebooks, and I need it to do my homework. May I go retrieve it?”

“You wish to go to Dean’s house?” Castiel nodded. “Fine. But come back as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Father.”

As he headed toward the Winchesters’ abode, Castiel contemplated the best way to initiate a conversation with Dean. Hopefully, either Sam or Mrs. Winchester would answer the door. Both of them would permit him to come inside. Sam would encourage it, even, since he believed Dean and Castiel should settle their differences.

When he reached the Winchesters’ place, he rapped on the door. His knock sounded tentative to his ears, and he wondered if those inside could detect the note of hesitance. He waited for what felt like forever, and then the door swung open.

Dean was on the other side.

Why had he answered so quickly?

“Cas?” Dean uttered.

“Hello, Dean.”

“What do you want?”

Castiel winced at Dean’s sharp tone. All prepared speech fled from his mind.

“Well?” Dean prompted, irked.

Castiel took a deep breath then attempted to craft a reply. “Why have you been avoiding me, Dean? I told you I was sorry. And I am. I shouldn’t have behaved so rudely toward you last week, and I . . . ” Castiel licked his lips. “I would like to be friends again. Please?”

“Don’t you get it, Cas?” Dean hurled. “I don’t want to be your damn friend.”

Castiel’s lower lip began to tremble. “But . . . you said we were best friends once, remember? Are we not best friends?”

“No, Cas,” Dean spat. “We were never friends.”

Castiel recoiled as if he’d been struck. “What?”

Dean’s eyes turned cold. “I was fuckin’ with you, Cas. It was all a joke.”

Castiel stared, dumbstruck. Of course it had all been a joke. Just as Lilith had pranked Garth, just like those bets people placed in teenage movies . . . and he had been dumb enough to fall for it.

Fissures opened up inside him.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Why hadn’t he seen through the ruse?

He’d known growing attached led only to heartache and lies, yet he’d allowed himself to do it anyway.

He spun around and stalked away, his vision blurring.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

He witnessed the tears pooling in Cas’s eyes and felt like the world’s biggest douchebag. Of all the lies he could have told, why’d he chosen that one? He couldn’t stand to see Cas looking so hurt, shoulders slumped, forlorn form overwhelmed by that baggy trench coat.

“Wait!” Dean yelled at Cas as he walked away. Cas didn’t deign to turn around. Dean couldn’t let him go, not like that. He jogged after Cas, who neither sped up nor slowed at Dean’s approach. “Cas, wait,” Dean pleaded when he’d finally caught up with him. “Stop.” Cas kept moving, not acknowledging Dean’s presence in the slightest. “Cas! Please! I didn’t mean it!” Still, Cas didn’t pause. Frustrated, Dean gripped Cas’s shoulders and pinned him to a nearby tree. Cas gasped at the impact. His mouth hung open, and those lips, so chapped yet enticing . . .

Dean planted his mouth on Cas’s, sucking greedily as if starved for Cas’s taste. When he finally pried himself away, Cas gazed back at him with wide, shocked eyes. “D’ya see, Cas?” Dean rumbled. “D’ya see it now? I can’t be your friend.”

“No,” Cas murmured.

Dean bowed his head in shame, his forehead brushing Cas’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Of course he wasn’t. Now that he understood how Dean felt, he probably couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

But then Cas’s fingertips skimmed over the side of his neck. With his other hand, he cradled Dean’s chin and lifted it until a brilliant blue gaze bore into Dean’s eyes and straight through to his heart. The hand on his neck migrated to the back of his head, clutching at tufts of Dean’s hair. Dean could feel Cas’s hands shaking as he placed a kiss on Dean’s lips, chaste yet passionate. When he pulled back, Dean gawked at him.

“You, too?” Dean whispered.

“Me, too,” Cas confirmed softly. Dean broke into a nervous chuckle. Cas proffered a bewildered smile. When Dean’s laughter ceased, Cas nipped at Dean’s lips. Once, twice, and again and again. It was kind of adorable, like a frisky kitten.

“What’re you doin’?” Dean asked with a grin.

Cas shrugged. He beamed, his teeth glittering white against the backdrop of the night. “I’m just so happy.”

“Me, too, Cas. Me, too.” Cas leaned in for another kiss, but Dean held up a hand. “Whoa. Let’s find somewhere more private than the neighbor’s front yard, hmm?” Cas nodded. Dean snatched at Cas’s hand and dragged him to the Impala. Once they’d settled inside, Dean started up the car. They drove in companionable silence, Dean steering with one hand and stroking Cas’s knuckles with the other. Cas flipped his hand over and rubbed Dean’s palm with his thumb. After a while, Dean pulled into the parking lot of Pontiac Nature Park and switched off the ignition.

“This is the middle of nowhere, Dean,” Cas stated.

“Yeah. Which means we’re alone,” Dean pointed out.

“All the more reason not to be here. If something were to happen . . . we are not close to any helpful resources.”

Dean waved a hand at him. “’S no big deal. I agree that Sam and I shouldn’t spend the night here when our dad’s bein’ an ass, but if it means privacy with you? I’ll take my chances.” Dean crawled into the backseat and urged, “C’mon.”

“All right,” Cas assented. He clambered into the back, almost falling in the process.

Dean tittered. “Y’know, I’ll never understand how someone so graceful can still be so clumsy.”

“You think I’m graceful?” Cas replied. Dean shrugged, glad Cas couldn’t see his face heating up. Cas straddled Dean’s lap and studied him, eyes a bit too intense for Dean’s comfort. Even in the dark, he could detect their flickers of blue. Cas tentatively placed his hands on the crooks of Dean’s arms and slid them up to his shoulders. Dean could feel how unsteady his fingers were, and he attempted to stabilize them by laying his own hands atop Cas’s. “It’s all right, Cas,” Dean assured him. “Easy.”

“Dean,” Cas ventured. “I . . . I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Dean cupped Cas’s cheek with one hand. “It’s okay, Cas.” Cas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Dean placed a hand on the other side of Cas’s cheek and closed the distance between them, his lips meeting Cas’s. Cas whined with need, and Dean kissed him harder, tongue invading his mouth. Cas returned the action, his enthusiasm more than compensating for his timidity and inexperience. He pressed Dean into the seat cushion as their passion escalated. One of Dean’s hands snaked into Cas’s hair, reveling in the soft brown locks. Cas’s erection brushed against Dean’s thigh. Cas ground down, once, and Dean’s dick stood to attention. He thrust upward, eager to feel Cas’s cock even if it was only through their jeans. But at the motion, Cas abruptly pulled back and scurried to the opposite side of the car.

“Cas?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Cas explained. “I don’t know . . . it’s all so fast, and . . . ”

“We don’t have to rush into anything,” Dean said. Honestly, taking it slow kind of relieved him. This thing with Cas, it was special, and he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing things. He’d moved more quickly before; hell, things had progressed quickly with Lisa. But his past relationships didn’t have the same aura as this, almost hallowed—

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas inched back toward Dean, laying down next to him. It was a tight fit, but they managed. Cas rested his head on Dean’s chest, and Dean threaded a hand through Cas’s hair. He closed his eyes and melted into the moment, contentment washing over him.


	15. The Declaration of Independence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for child abuse.
> 
> Also, this'll probably be the last chapter I post for a little bit. I'll be pausing to work on my SPN Reverse Bang fic, and I have difficulty focusing on more than one fic at the same time. I'll update as soon as I can, though.

Castiel gradually drifted into consciousness, enveloped in a cocoon of satisfaction. He savored the warmth underneath him, the rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat.

Then he realized there was more light than there should be.

He bolted upright and gazed into the horizon through the window. His hypothesis had been correct. Fingers of orange and pink arose from the bottom of the sky.

They had been here all night. Father would be furious.

He glanced at his watch. They needed to hurry or else they would be late for school.

“Dean,” Castiel pronounced, gently rocking the other boy’s shoulders. Dean blinked awake by degrees. Why was the sight so captivating?

Dean propped himself up on one elbow and stretched. “Yeah, Cas?” His eyes were liquid, like honey, filled with a light Castiel couldn’t identify.

“It’s morning.”

“It is?” Dean glanced outside the window. “Oh, shit.”

“We need to get to school.”

“We need our backpacks first,” Dean pointed out, “not to mention a change in wardrobe. ’Sides, I’ve gotta pick up Sam.”

“Yes, of course. Will you take me home?”

“Sure. But just to get your stuff.” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Dean continued, “I don’t wanna leave you alone with your dad right now. I can’t let him hurt you.”

Dean smoothed a thumb over Castiel’s cheekbone, and Castiel sighed with contentment. But Dean couldn’t protect him forever. “I will have to be alone with Father eventually.”

“Yeah, but maybe he’ll cool down a little?” Castiel doubted that, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t want Dean to worry about him. “Okay then.” Dean pressed a brief kiss to Castiel’s nose before scrambling into the front seat, and Castiel followed.

He still couldn’t believe last night had been real. As Dean drove, Castiel gaped at him, wondering when this mirage would disappear.

Dean smiled, and without taking his eyes off the road, declared, “You’re starin’, Cas.”

“How can you tell when you’re not even looking at me?” Castiel asked.

“I can feel your eyes on me.” He spared Castiel a reassuring glance before returning his attention to the road. “Not that I mind, but don’t do that in public. People’ll think you’re creepy.”

Castiel flushed at Dean’s words. “Oh,” he mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say.

When Dean pulled into the driveway, Castiel bounded up the front steps and unlocked the door. Inside, Father was sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes turned to glare at Castiel as he walked in. “Where have you been all night?” Father growled.

“With Dean,” Castiel replied without looking at him.

“You did not have permission. And it was a school night, to boot.” Castiel ignored him and strode toward his bedroom. “Hey!” Father hissed. “I’m talking to you!” He stomped toward Castiel, grabbed his wrist, and shoved him against the wall. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Let. Me. Go,” Castiel seethed. When he realized what he’d said and how he’d said it, he inwardly quailed at his temerity. Father was going to _kill_ him twice over.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

Castiel snatched his wrist out of Father’s grip and declared, “I need to get ready for school.” He scurried into his room and locked the door. He changed into the first clean clothes he found and grabbed his backpack, sighing. He hadn’t even done any of his homework.

“And where do you think you’re going now?” Father demanded as Castiel strode past him.

“To school with Dean,” Castiel answered.

“ _I’m_ the one who drives you, remember?”

“Not today.” He rushed outside before Father could stop him.

Castiel didn’t process everything that had happened with Father until he was in Dean’s car. As the extent of his boldness dawned on him, the enormity of his disobedience, he began to hyperventilate.

“Cas!” Dean exclaimed when he arrived at the Winchesters’ house. “Buddy, you okay?”

Castiel rubbed at his wrist unconsciously. “Fine,” he breathed. “Father is angry.”

Dean snorted. “I imagined the dick would be.”

Castiel’s vision tunneled. “No, Dean. I mean that he is _really_ angry.” Castiel was afraid of what Father would do once they were alone together. Perhaps he would strike Castiel’s hands again . . . please God no.

What if he did something even worse? Castiel couldn’t envision what that would be, but he knew Father had a twisted imagination that outstripped his own.

Dean gently pried Castiel’s fingers from his wrist and massaged it. “He hurt you?” His eyes grew worried.

Castiel glanced down at the bruise forming on his wrist. “It is nothing. He has done much worse.”

“Hmm.” Dean appeared troubled, but he didn’t say anything more. Castiel followed him inside, where Mrs. Winchester offered them each a Pop-Tart. Castiel nibbled on his while he waited for Dean and Sam to be ready.

“You know you’re in trouble, mister,” Mrs. Winchester told Dean when he returned to the kitchen. Dean nodded. “Where were you all night?”

“With Cas,” Dean responded.

Mrs. Winchester narrowed her eyes, examining first Castiel then Dean. “Doing what?”

Dean struggled to come up with an answer, so Castiel said, “It was an accident, Mrs. Winchester. We fell asleep.”

“I see.” She looked back at Dean. “You’re still in trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

Castiel was relieved that Mrs. Winchester would be the one disciplining Dean, for Mr. Winchester could be just as volatile as Father.

Castiel collapsed into the backseat of the Impala, allowing Sam to sit in the front. As Dean navigated the streets, Sam asked, “I see you guys are talkin’ again. So, what _were_ you two doin’ all night?”

“None of your damn business,” Dean huffed.

Sam eyed Castiel, who also declined to answer him. He sighed and fiddled with the straps of his backpack.

Castiel barely registered what was happening in first hour, so occupied was he with thoughts of last night and Dean. At the beginning of second hour, as usual, Mr. Turner directed the students to pass in their lab reports. Castiel had not completed the assignment, so he didn’t submit his.

Mr. Turner shuffled through the lab reports and eyed Castiel curiously. “Castiel, you forgot to turn in your homework.”

“I don’t have it,” Castiel replied. Everyone gawked at him. He understood that this situation was a novelty; after all, he had never failed to turn in an assignment before. Still, he didn’t comprehend why they should make such a big production over the issue.

“You had something more important to do?” Mr. Turner drawled.

“Yes.” Mending his relationship Dean _had_ been more important, as had finding out that they shared the same feelings. But at his answer, the class burst into laughter. Beside him, Hannah stared at him with her mouth hanging open. Mr. Turner’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead, and he sputtered for a minute as if he didn’t know how to respond. Eventually, he settled with dropping the stack of lab reports on his desk and starting the day’s lecture.

Castiel drifted through biology and philosophy; then finally, lunchtime came. When he entered the cafeteria, he headed toward his friends’ table and sat down next to Dean, who beamed at him.

“So you guys finally kissed and made up?” Jo said. Castiel and Dean blushed. Castiel was unnerved by how close her words came to the truth. How could she possibly know? But then she jabbed Dean with her elbow and continued, “C’mon, you know I’m only jokin’. But seriously, you guys are cool now?” Oh. That had been an odd joke.

“Yep,” Dean replied.

“Thank God,” Benny threw in. “Dean over here was miserable without ya, brother,” he told Castiel. Castiel turned questioning eyes to Dean, who reddened.

“I guess I did sorta miss ya,” Dean mumbled.

“Understatement of the year.”

“I think Cas probably missed Dean, too,” Charlie pointed out.

Hannah squinted at Castiel, studying him. Castiel shifted under her scrutiny. “There’s something different about Cas, I think,” she declared. “Do you know what he did during biology?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “No. What?”

“He didn’t have his homework, so Mr. Turner sarcastically asked Cas if he’d done something more important last night. And do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“Yes! He actually said yes!” Everyone chuckled. Dean laughed loudest, Castiel noticed, and it was a beautiful sound. Even if he didn’t understand why the incident was so obviously amusing.

“Seriously? He said that to _Mr. Turner_?” Charlie marveled.

“Yep.”

“And what did Mr. Turner say?”

“Nothing! He just got really flustered and acted like nothing had happened.”

Dean clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and let it linger. “That was pretty awesome, Cas.” Castiel eagerly soaked in the warmth from Dean’s hand until Dean removed it so he could finish his sandwich.

xxxxxxxxxx

“You should come home with me,” Dean told Cas after fencing.

Cas chewed his lip nervously. “I don’t know if Father would allow it.”

“C’mon. Say you need me to tutor you in English or somethin’.”

Castiel snorted. “It’s the beginning of the semester.”

“So? Never too early to get started.”

“All right.”

Dean hoped that keeping Cas from his son of a bitch dad would reduce the severity of Cas’s punishment. Plus, he and Cas should probably talk about what’d happened last night.

He wished he could just put a fuckin’ bullet in Mr. Novak’s head or something. Barring Cas agreeing to report his dad, there was nothing Dean could do to help with the situation, however. It made him want to punch something.

Dean followed Cas to Mr. Novak’s classroom. Cas explained to Mr. Novak that he wanted Dean to tutor him, and Mr. Novak reluctantly gave Cas permission to go to Dean’s house. A quiet fury radiated from the man, something you’d miss if you didn’t know to look for it. Dean hoped it would simmer down before Cas had to go home.

They met Sam at the front of the school. He had just come from soccer practice, and he was drenched in sweat. He broke into a huge grin when he spotted Cas with Dean.

When they arrived home, Sam hopped into the shower, and Cas followed Dean to his room. Dean shut the door and gestured at his bed, indicating that Cas should sit down. Cas stepped toward the desk chair instead, but Dean gave him a warning look, so he perched on the bed. Dean sank onto it beside him. He cleared his throat and began awkwardly. “So. What’re we gonna do about this?” He waved a hand between himself and Cas.

Cas raised a confused eyebrow. “This?”

Dean blushed. “Y’know. This thing we’ve got goin.—”

“I want it,” Cas declared, the words flying out of his mouth as if eager to escape. He drew in his arms against his chest as if burrowing into himself, afraid of how Dean would respond. It reminded him of what he’d said to Cas last night, and his hurt lurched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Dean murmured. He leaned in to press his lips against Cas’s, their warmth intoxicating.

After a minute, Cas pulled back. “But I cannot tell Father. He would never approve.”

“Yeah, I don’t think my dad’d like it, either,” Dean admitted. Would Mom and Sammy be okay with him dating Cas? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that Dad would use it against him, claim that it was another thing that detracted from his manhood.

“Are we keeping this a secret, then?” Cas asked uncertainly.

“I think we should tell our friends. I don’t want to pretend around them.”

“Would any of them care?”

“I don’t think so.”                                                                                                                              

Cas’s lips formed a small smile. “Then I would also like to tell them.”

“Cool. But we’ve gotta . . . no one else at school can know.” Cas tilted his head to the side, and Dean explained, “It might get back to your dad.”

Cas blanched. “Yes. Of course. No, no one else must know.”

“Okay. Now that we’ve established that, I guess that means we’re officially dating now?” After a minute, Dean chuckled.

“What is so funny, Dean?”

Dean shook his head. It was just nerves, really. God, he couldn’t believe this. Cas and he were _dating_. Nothing else could’ve made him happier at the moment. The idea of taking Cas out on a date, it felt surreal, and giddiness overtook him.

Cas deserved the best, and Dean would show him nothing but.

Cas was still staring at him quizzically, and Dean couldn’t make himself shut up. He noticed Cas’s tongue flick over his lips, and oh, he _wanted_. He grasped Cas’s shoulders and pushed him backward, locking his lips on Cas’s as Cas caught himself on his elbows. Dean licked at the seam between Cas’s lips experimentally, and they cracked open. His tongue darted inside Cas’s mouth, and Cas freakin’ _purred_ , which was just so damn endearing. Dean moaned into Cas’s mouth, his tongue wrapping around Cas’s. Cas’s elbows collapsed beneath him, and his head fell onto the pillow, brown hair fanning out around his head like a halo. Dean bracketed Cas with his knees and gripped the lapels of his trench coat, drawing it open. Underneath, Cas wore a simple white button-down shirt. Dean reached for the top button and looked to Cas for permission. Cas hesitated then nodded. If he wasn’t sure . . . Dean didn’t want to rush him. His hands dropped to his sides, but Cas frowned at him, seemingly miffed. Dean’s hands returned to Cas’s shirt. He unbuttoned the top half and ran hands over the bare skin of Cas’s chest, all compact muscle. Cas had a wiry build; he should stop hiding it under layers of loose clothing. Cas arched into the touch, his eyes glassy, highlighting their remarkable blue. Dean snatched a swathe of Cas’s hair with one hand and planted his lips on Cas’s clavicle.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, his long eyelashes fluttering.

Dean swiped his tongue over Cas’s skin, sucking gently. He had to be careful; he couldn’t risk leaving evidence on Cas’s body. He kinda wished he could, though. God, he couldn’t get enough of Cas’s breathy sighs—

“Dean?” Sam called, ripping him out of the moment.

Panic splattered itself across Cas’s countenance, and Dean abruptly crawled away from him. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“Dean?” Sam yelled again, his voice closer.

Damn, if he opened that door—

Dean glanced at Cas, who was hurriedly buttoning up his shirt, then shouted, “Yeah, Sam?”

“Dean—” And now Sam’s voice was right behind that door.

“What is it, Sammy? Don’t come in. We’re busy.” Dammit, he should’ve come up with a less shady excuse.

“Whatever.” Dean could practically hear Sam’s eye roll. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks, Sam. We’ll be right there.”

Cas stood up. “I guess I should leave.”

“Stay for dinner.”

“I don’t want to impose—”

“It’s not imposing. Mom’d love to have you stay.”

“All right,” Cas replied even though he still appeared uncertain.

“And take off your friggin’ coat.” He gave Dean a pointed look, and Dean suddenly realized he was still wearing his leather jacket. “Shut up,” he muttered as he tore it off and tossed it at the desk while Cas neatly folded his trench coat before laying it on the chair.

When they reached the kitchen, Mom, Dad, and Sam were already seated around the table. As Dean and Cas sat down, Mom turned to Cas with a warm smile. “Hi, Castiel. Glad to have you join us.”

Cas flushed. “Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.”

Despite Dad’s surly reticence, supper was enjoyable. Mom treated Cas as if he was a part of the family, and he knew Cas was awed by it: the sentiment shone in his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

Father had punished Castiel after he came home from supper at the Winchesters, but he had done nothing to his hands, for which Castiel was grateful. But Father had administered twenty-five lashes with the switch, more than he’d ever before done at one time. And he’d been vicious, too. His swings had been extra rigorous, and Castiel had seen the savage glee in his eyes afterward, right before Father had left him to collapse alone on the floor. Blood had trickled from his buttocks onto the white tiles. Once Castiel finally had the strength to stand, he hastened to clean up both himself and the ground. Otherwise, Father might punish him for leaving a mess.

But Castiel put that out of his mind now. It was movie night, which meant tonight Dean and he were telling their friends they were together. Castiel was afraid of how they would react, and he could discern that, despite his swagger, Dean was nervous as well.

Castiel slid into the Impala next to Dean, wincing at the pain of sitting down. He’d thought he’d disguised it well, but then he noticed Dean gazing at him, hazel-green eyes inscrutable. “That son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as he swung onto the road.

When Dean pulled into Garth’s driveway, they braced themselves. They’d agreed to reveal the nature of their relationship right away; otherwise, anxiety might get the best of them.

Castiel and Dean smiled encouragingly at each other; then Dean rapped on the door. Garth opened the door and welcomed them, gesturing at the coatrack as they shuffled inside. They hung up their jackets and followed Garth into the living room, where everyone else had already gathered, except Andy, who would not be coming over this evening. They looked up and shouted greetings at Dean and Castiel. Castiel and Dean exchanged glances. Dean’s expression was serious, questioning, so Castiel nodded once to indicate he should begin. Garth had assumed a seat on the couch, and the others had resumed their chatter. Dean snaked an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and Castiel leaned into it for support.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, and everyone turned their attention to him. “Uh. Cas and me, we’ve got somethin’ to tell ya.”

“What is it, Dean?” Jo replied.

“Um, Cas and me . . . ” He scratched his head with his free hand. “We’re together.”

“Together?” Benny echoed. “Like, _together_ together?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re dating again? So soon after Lisa?” Garth asked.

Dean’s grip tightened on Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah. I guess?”

Hannah frowned at him. “Don’t take advantage of Cas just because you’re on the rebound.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t like what she implied, that he could be so easily used and manipulated, as if he had no say in this.—

“It’s not like that—” Dean began.

“This is my choice, too, Hannah,” Castiel interrupted. Dean removed his arm from Castiel’s shoulders, and they laced their fingers together. “No one’s taking advantage of me.”

“Good,” Hannah responded, chastened. “That’s—that’s good.”

Charlie elbowed Jo next to her. “Hey. You owe me ten dollars.”

“Son of a bitch!” Jo exclaimed. She dug a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to Charlie.

“What the hell was that all about?” Dean inquired as he and Castiel settled on the floor nearby.

Charlie’s eyes twinkled. “I knew you two had the hots for each other.”

“So we had a damn bet,” Jo grumbled.

“And I won,” Charlie concluded simply.

Castiel’s face heated up, and Dean groaned. “Shit. Were we that obvious?”

“Not to Jo, obviously.”

Jo flushed. “I thought you were straight.”

Dean grinned at Castiel. “So did I.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand before addressing the room. “Hey, guys?”

“Yeah?” Benny said.

“Would you mind keepin’ the stuff about me and Cas to yourselves?”

Anna, who had become a regular fixture in their group, rolled her eyes. “Duh. Who knows what that Nazi Mr. Novak would do if he found out?” She eyed Castiel apologetically. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

“It is quite all right,” Castiel replied. “I agree with the sentiment.”

Benny clapped his hands together. “So. Now that we’ve got that outta the way, should we get started with the movie?”

“Good idea,” Hannah concurred. She jumped up and inserted the disc into the DVD player. Tonight, they were watching _1776_ , a musical about the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It was the most absurd thing Castiel had ever heard of, so he looked forward to seeing the film. They had chosen to view this movie because the drama department would be performing the play sometime during the first half of the semester, and Dean and Charlie wanted to see the play brought to life.

Dean and Castiel leaned back against the couch, Dean stretching his legs out while Castiel propped his chin on his knees.

A man appeared on screen and declaimed, “I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace, that two are called a law firm, and that three or more become a congress. And by God, I have had _this_ Congress! . . . ”

“Check it out,” Dean said. “It’s Mr. Feeny.”

Castiel observed as the others squinted at the TV.

“Damn, that is him!” Benny realized.

“He looks so _young_ ,” Anna commented.

Castiel was confused. As far as he’d gathered, the man’s real name was William Daniels, and he was playing John Adams. Why would they call him Mr. Feeny? Castiel furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “Who is Mr. Feeny?”

“Oh, my God, Cas, you can’t be serious!” Dean exclaimed. He turned to Castiel and patted him on the shoulder affectionately. “’Course you can; it’s you.” Castiel tilted his head as he pondered Dean’s meaning, and Dean laughed. “Don’t sweat it, dude. Seriously, though. Have you never watched _Boy Meets World_?”

“What is that?”

“It’s this TV show about a boy named Corey Matthews. He has a friend named Shawn and a girlfriend named Topanga and—”

“Topanga? That is a bizarre name.”

“Yeah, her parents were hippies or somethin’.—”

“Hey, if you want, we can watch a couple of episodes after the movie,” Garth chimed in. “I’ve got a few of them recorded on VHS.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. His eyes shone with excitement.

The film turned out to be highly amusing, although Castiel soon came to realize that he got restless during long musicals. He had enjoyed watching _The Producers_ because Dean and Charlie were in it, and no doubt he would like hearing them sing in _1776_ as well. On the whole, however, he didn’t understand why there had to be so much singing. It was terribly unrealistic, and he said so to Dean.

Dean chuckled. “God, Cas, it’s not about realism. I doubt a lotta the stuff in there is historically accurate. It’s just entertainment.”

“Oh,” Castiel murmured.

After the movie, Garth popped in a videotape. In the interim, Dean went to the bathroom. Castiel folded his legs underneath himself, and when Dean returned, he stretched before lying down, pillowing his head on Castiel’s lap. Castiel absent-mindedly swept a hand through Dean’s hair.

“Oh, my God!” Charlie squealed. “You two are just as disgusting as Benny and Jo!”

“Watch it,” Jo, who was leaning against Benny, warned.

They watched two episodes of _Boy Meets World_. Castiel soon learned that Mr. Feeny was the kids’ teacher, but he also lived next door to Corey and sometimes taught him life lessons. It was rather strange.

When those episodes finished, everyone prepared to leave. Even though Dean had driven Castiel over, he would not be taking him home. They had needed to be together in order to make their announcement to the group, but Gabriel’s apartment was nowhere near Dean’s house. Benny lived closer to it, and so Castiel climbed into the backseat of his Jeep while Jo rode in the front. Soon, they reached Gabriel’s.

“Look who’s gettin’ in late!” Gabriel exclaimed as Castiel trotted inside. His brother’s grin was so impish that Castiel couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

“It is only a little after midnight,” Castiel pointed out.

“Whatever. Don’t pretend you and your friends weren’t up to some freaky shit,” Gabriel joked.

For the umpteenth time this week, Castiel contemplated telling Gabriel about the new development in his relationship with Dean. He had never mentioned the matter to Dean because he wasn’t even sure if he wished for Gabriel to know. Of course, Gabriel would incessantly tease him about it, but that wasn’t why Castiel hesitated to discuss the affair with Gabriel. Rather, Gabriel had a volatile temper when incensed. During Thanksgiving, Michael had learned of Father striking his hands because Gabriel had brought it up. Castiel hadn’t wanted Michael to know, and Gabriel should’ve understood that. When Castiel had finally returned home on Thanksgiving, he had once again had to endure listening to Michael weakly defend Father’s behavior.

Gabriel rarely saw Father, but he did occasionally run into Michael in public. If they got into an argument, Castiel could see Gabriel bringing up Dean while he enumerated the reasons he despised Father.

And if Michael heard about it, he would tell Father.

No, Gabriel couldn’t know, for he didn’t understood the importance of discretion.

So instead, Castiel rolled his eyes at his brother. He headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and called, “Good night.”

When he fell asleep, he dreamed of wrapping himself up in Dean, and he felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1776_ is an amusing film (and play, too, I'm sure). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is very welcome! :)


	16. Name Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long time between updates. I've been working on my fic for the SPN Reverse Bang. Plus, real life has been busy, too. I'm still working on that fic, and with that in addition to the holidays, I'm not sure when the next update will be. I know what's supposed to be in the next chapter, so believe me when I say I'm itching to write it. I'll get to it when I can.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated.

Castiel perched on the couch, tapping his foot nervously on the floor while he waited for Dean to arrive. Tonight, he and Dean would dine out alone. Dean’s birthday was Monday, but they wouldn’t have enough time to celebrate then because it was a school night, and Dean would probably want to spend time with his family besides. So, they’d set aside this night for just the two of them. Their friends had teased them about it. Charlie was especially disappointed that she couldn’t plan a party for Dean, but in the end, everyone had understood.

Castiel ran a finger back and forth over the wrapped box on his lap. Would Dean like it? He wasn’t sure. If Dean hated it, he might throw up.

Gabriel had gone to Kali’s for the night, so Castiel was alone in the apartment. Still hesitant to inform Gabriel of the relationship, he’d told his brother that everyone was going out for Dean’s birthday.

A knock on the door startled Castiel out of his thoughts. He hopped off of the couch and swung open the door.

Dean whistled. “Jeez, you look fancy.”

They were going to a nice restaurant, Laura Lee’s Bistro, so Castiel had donned black slacks and a blue shirt Gabriel had once told him brought out his eyes. Of course, he hadn’t let Gabriel see him in that ensemble, for then he’d know Castiel was hiding something.

Dean, in contrast, was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue and green flannel shirt underneath his leather jacket.

Castiel shrugged. “I want to blend in with the establishment.”

“Ah, who cares?”

“Not you, certainly,” Castiel replied with a wry smile. He grabbed his trench coat and the gift then followed Dean to the Impala.

“Ooh, is that my present?” Dean gushed.

Castiel held it close. “You don’t get to open it yet.”

“Party pooper.”

When they entered the bistro, the hostess gave Dean a funny look but didn’t say anything about his outfit. She showed them to a booth in the back corner. “Probably so no one will see us,” Dean muttered.

“See _you_ ,” Castiel corrected. “I am dressed appropriately.”

“Whatever.”

They scanned the menu in silence. After a few minutes, Dean mused, “I wonder if they sell pie.”

“Yes,” Castiel murmured. He flipped to the back and pointed at the list of pies available. “They’ve got six kinds.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s eyes twinkled with mischief, and Castiel grew suspicious.

“What are you thinking?” Castiel asked.

“Listen. Why don’t we just order pie?”

“Eat only a slice of pie for dinner?”

“No. Well, sorta. Let’s order every one they’ve got. We can share.”

Castiel stared at Dean. “You must be joking.”

“Nope.”

Castiel glanced at the tables nearby. “We would look bad.”

“So what?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, who adopted an exaggerated whine as he continued, “Pwetty pwease, Cas? It’s my birthday.” Castiel didn’t respond. “Pwease?”

“Fine,” Castiel huffed.

Dean broke into a huge grin. “Can I open my present now?”

“After we eat.”

When the waitress arrived, they ordered six slices of pie. Castiel couldn’t help sounding apologetic, but Dean beamed.

After the waitress dropped off their pie, Castiel pointed out, “This might make us sick.”

“Nah.” Dean stuffed a chunk of cherry pie into his mouth. “Oh, my God,” he enthused. “This is fuckin’ delicious. You gotta try it, man.” He speared another bite onto his fork and held it out toward Castiel. Castiel opened his mouth, and Dean popped it in. As he chewed, Castiel realized the ramifications of what they’d just done. They were in public, where anyone could see them.

Castiel swallowed the bite and whispered, “Do you see anyone we know?”

After both he and Dean had examined their surroundings, Dean answered, “No. Why?”

“No one from school?”

“Why— _oh_.” Understanding dawned in Dean’s eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” Dean gripped Castiel’s index finger for a moment before shoving it away. “Damn. I did it again.”

“I think we are safe,” Castiel finally allowed.

“For now. I’ll be more vigilant, okay?” Castiel nodded. Dean brightened. “So. What’d you think of the pie?”

“It was pretty good.”

“Only ‘pretty good’?” Dean scoffed. Castiel shrugged and cut off a sliver of the chocolate slice, which wound up being his favorite. Dean couldn’t decide on his favorite and poked fun at Castiel by pretending to hate the chocolate, but Castiel knew he’d savored it as well.

“So, where’s my present?” Dean asked after the waitress had cleared away their dishes.

Castiel slid it toward Dean. “You may open it now.”

“Awesome.” Dean ripped off the paper, revealing a small wooden box. He cracked it open and raised an eyebrow. “Cas, you proposin’ to me already?” he joked.

Castiel’s face heated up. “No,” he said quietly. He’d spotted the ring at an art festival Gabriel had dragged him to. Two angel wings were embossed on the sparkling sterling silver. Perhaps it hadn’t been the right thing to give Dean, though. Dean remained quiet for an inordinate amount of time, and Castiel became anxious. “If you do not like it—” he began.

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean interjected. His eyes met Castiel’s, and they sparkled. “It’s—it’s awesome. But . . . why angel wings?”

“It’s me.” Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. “I . . . I was named after an angel, remember?” Castiel heard himself squeak.

“Oh! I see. Clever.” He slipped it onto the middle finger of his right hand. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You are welcome.” They smiled at each other.

“So, what should we do now?”

“Would you like to go back to Gabriel’s? He is gone for the night, and we can be alone . . . ”

“Sounds great.”

As Dean drove them to Gabriel’s apartment, Castiel started to feel queasy. He had an inkling of what they would do next, but he wasn’t sure how far Dean would wish to go. He’d decided that he would give up his virginity tonight if Dean wanted him to. After all, they were celebrating his birthday. No doubt Dean would desire sexual relations at some point. That was what people in relationships did—have sex. If he did not engage in sex with Dean soon, Dean would start to think something was wrong with him, or perhaps he would feel like Castiel was no longer interested in him.

No matter how Castiel felt about the matter, sex would eventually happen. So why not begin now?

His insides quivered with fear, though. He willed them to settle down, but to no avail.

Dean propped his chin on Castiel’s shoulder as Castiel unlocked the door. As soon as Castiel had closed the door behind them, Dean gripped his shoulders and muttered, “Finally.” He guided Castiel to the couch and shoved him onto it. The collision knocked the breath out of Castiel. Dean straddled Castiel’s hips, chuckling. Castiel tried to smile back at him; then their breaths were mingling, their lips touching, first gentle, then bruisingly hard. He felt Dean’s body pressed against his and experienced a frisson of desire. He snuck a hand underneath Dean’s shirt and stroked it over Dean’s smooth, muscled chest. He felt Dean’s breath hitch underneath his fingertips. Castiel allowed Dean to remove his coat and unbutton his shirt halfway. Dean rubbed a hand on the pants over Castiel’s member, and Castiel sighed.

“Feels good?” Dean leered. Castiel’s eyelids fluttered as Dean stroked over the spot once again. Then he undid Castiel’s pants and his own. He slipped Castiel’s slacks down to his knees then stopped. “You okay with this?” Castiel nodded. “You sure?” He nodded again. “All right.” After pulling down Castiel’s boxers and slacks, he drew down his own jeans and boxers. He propped himself up over Castiel, elbows on either side of his shoulders. Dean thrust down against Castiel experimentally, and Castiel’s penis tingled. Dean repeated the motion a few more times. Castiel attempted to reciprocate, but his body was frozen. He felt moisture prickling his eyes, and he closed them to keep Dean from seeing the tears.

“Cas?” Dean ventured, stilling his movement. Castiel forced his eyes open and tilted his head to the side. Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s chest. “You’re so tense.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean looked puzzled. “No, don’t apologize.” He frowned. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, wincing at how high-pitched his voice sounded.

Dean rose to his knees. “No, you don’t.”

Castiel blinked. “What? I—”

Dean yanked his boxers and jeans back on. “No.”

“But—but—” Castiel blubbered. Oh, no, why was he crying? “It’s for your birthday, and—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Dean gazed back at him, uncomprehending. “If I don’t—if I . . . ” How could he say it without sounding like an idiot? “—you’ll get tired of me and—”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, that’s what people want when they’re dating and—”

Dean smiled grimly. “It’s not all about sex, Cas.” With one hand, he swiped at Castiel’s tears. Then he gestured at the ring on his finger and said, “I’m in it for you, and if that means no sex—”

“But you want sex.”

“I won’t deny it. But I don’t want it if you don’t. We’ll wait till you’re ready. _If_ you’re ready. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now that that’s settled.” He pulled Castiel’s boxers and pants back on. “You up for some makin’ out?”

Castiel grinned. “I think I can handle that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Dean whispered against Castiel’s lips. When their lips met, Castiel licked against the seam between Dean’s lips, and they parted. Castiel marveled at his actions; he’d never thought he could be so daring. As his tongue tangled with Dean’s, he wedged a leg between both of Dean’s, tugged at his hair, drowning in the sensation of Dean all around him.

Drowning so completely that he didn’t hear the door until it was too late.

“Castiel?” Gabriel called.

Castiel and Dean jumped to opposite ends of the couch. Castiel panicked. What should he tell Gabriel? How could he explain himself? How—?

Dean’s eyes darted between Castiel and his brother. “I guess I should go,” he said awkwardly as he and Castiel buttoned up their shirts. Castiel nodded, and he stood up. “See ya later, Cas.”

“Good-bye, Dean.”

After Dean left, Gabriel and Castiel stared at each other in silence. Finally, Gabriel said, “So. You and Dean, huh?”

“I thought you were supposed to stay with Kali tonight,” Castiel responded.

Gabriel sighed. “We got in a fight. And don’t change the subject. So. You and Dean, huh?”

Castiel nodded. “Please do not tell anyone.”

Gabriel snorted. “Who would I tell?”

“Michael, Father—”

Gabriel joined him on the couch. “I don’t ever talk to those bastards.”

Castiel’s hands were shaking. “But sometimes, you see Michael when you’re out and about—”

“Why would I tell him about you?”

“You’re not exactly skilled at keeping secrets, Gabriel.”

“You’re right,” Gabriel admitted. “But listen, Castiel. I would be more careful with this.” Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Father would explode, and I won’t let him do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t mean to—”

“I wouldn’t let _this_ out. How could you think otherwise?” Castiel cast his eyes downward. “You’re my baby bro, squirt. It’s my job to protect you.”

Castiel looked up. “So you won’t tell anyone,” he said quietly.

“’Course not.”

“Thank you.” Castiel stood up. “I’m going to use the restroom.”

“All right.”

After he urinated, Castiel studied himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, his face pale. He splashed some water on his face before leaving. When he heard voices coming from the living room, he stopped in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel.” That was Kali. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad.”

“It’s okay. My baby bro needed me.” A pause. “Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve done more for him, Kali.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But you didn’t see him earlier. He was so . . . afraid. Afraid! Of _me_. Why?”

“You’re doing the best you can. I’m sure he sees that.”

“But maybe that’s not enough.”

“Don’t think like that.”

After a few minutes of silence, Castiel decided that it was safe to return to the living room. “Hello, Kali,” he greeted.

“Hi, Castiel. Do you mind if I spend the night?”

“Not at all.”

Gabriel snaked an arm around Kali’s shoulders, and Castiel smiled, glad that Gabriel had finally found someone who could put up with him.

xxxxxxxxx

After he and Father arrived at school on Monday, Castiel searched for Dean. Turning eighteen was quite a milestone, and Castiel needed to wish Dean the best.

He found Dean lounging near his locker. He glanced up at Castiel’s approach, and Castiel grinned. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean returned the smile. “Hey, Cas.”

“You can vote now.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ’cause that’s what I’ve been lookin’ forward to.”

“Voting is an integral element of our society.”

“Whatever.” Dean scanned the area around them, which was sparsely populated, then grabbed Castiel’s wrist. “Listen, Cas, I’ve gotta talk to ya.” He eyed the bathroom and dragged Castiel toward it. As he did so, Castiel noticed Charlie enter the hallway. She watched them with confusion.

Once they were inside the bathroom, Dean pulled Castiel into an empty stall and shut the door. “So. Uh. That thing with your brother on Saturday? How’d that go?”

Castiel shrugged. “He knows.”

“Shit.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Cas. I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful.”

“No, Dean. I’m the one who thought we were safe at Gabriel’s.”

“So, what’s he gonna do?”

Castiel sighed. “Nothing.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? You sure? He’s okay with this?” Dean waved at the space between Castiel and himself.

“That is not what I was afraid of, Dean. He is bisexual.” Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, but he paused when Castiel held a hand up. “I was scared that he’d accidentally tell Michael.”

“Will he?”

“He says he won’t. But if it is an accident . . . I think there are no guarantees.”

“Hmm. I’m sorry, Cas.”

“So am I.” Castiel wanted to believe Gabriel, but at the same time, he knew Gabriel was impulsive. Perhaps if he could ensure that Gabriel didn’t encounter Michael anytime soon—

Dean leaned into Castiel, propping his hands up on either side of Castiel, effectively trapping him against the wall. “Now. Enough of this morbid talk. How about a birthday kiss, hmm?”

“Dean. We are at school,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Duh. But we’re alone, so how ’bout it?”

“Fine.”

“Whoa, contain your enthusiasm, why don’t ya?”

Dean remained still, so Castiel drew closer. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Oh, I want you to.” Castiel was startled at his own audacity, the sultry purr in his voice.

They surged toward each other at the same time, lips clashing and teeth clacking as they devoured one another. Dean fisted a hand in Castiel’s hair, tilting his head up. Dean’s taste, the way he tugged at his hair—a moan involuntarily bubbled up from Castiel’s throat. Dean’s eyes bore into his, pupils dilating when Castiel made the noise, the green almost seeming to glow.

The bathroom door suddenly slammed open, and they froze. They heard two people at the urinals. Dean looked as if he would burst into laughter, so Castiel clamped a hand over his mouth and glared a warning at him. Dean’s eyes still danced in merriment, and Castiel was afraid he might snicker at any moment.

Finally, the other boys left. Dean bit Castiel’s index finger, and Castiel snatched his hand away, annoyed.

“Why did you do that?” Castiel asked.

Dean grinned mischievously. He leaned back into Castiel’s space, but when the bell rang, Castiel caught Dean’s shoulder and held him at arm’s length.

“We are late for first hour,” Castiel said.

“Fuck first hour,” Dean replied. Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “What? I’d rather be here with you.”

Castiel released Dean’s shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you believe that flattery will get you anywhere—”

“But it’s my _birth_ daaaaay,” Dean sulked with an exaggerated pout. Castiel remained unimpressed. Dean slid closer, snaking a hand under Castiel’s shirt. “Can’t we have a little fun?” Wisps of breath brushed the skin beneath Castiel’s nose, and his lips were so tantalizingly close—

How could Castiel resist?

Castiel leaned in, Dean huffing in frustration when Castiel’s lips hovered a fraction of an inch above Dean’s. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean repeated.

“Yes. Okay.”

Castiel grasped Dean’s shoulder as their lips met. When Dean’s lips parted, Castiel’s tongue darted into his mouth. With his free hand, Castiel unzipped Dean’s leather jacket then let it wander underneath Dean’s shirt, smoothing over the plains of his muscled chest. Dean’s mouth on his, warm and vibrant skin underneath his hands . . . Dean’s lips migrated down his neck, down to his collarbone, where he nipped once then soothed the spot with his tongue. Surely that much wouldn’t leave a permanent mark. At least his shirt would cover it, the shirt Dean was now unbuttoning by degrees. After tackling the last button, Dean gripped Castiel’s hips with his rough hands. The sensation was just so . . . Castiel couldn’t think of the right word to describe it, but he liked it very much. He reveled in the pressure of those hands.

“Cas . . . ” Dean breathed against his neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

“What did I tell you about flattery?”

Dean glanced up at Castiel, and his eyes were so sincere. “No, you are. You shouldn’t hide it so much.”

Castiel blushed. He rubbed a palm over Dean’s chest, down to his belly, and said, “ _You_ are the one who is gorgeous.”

“Huh. Whatever. How ’bout less talkin’ and more kissing?”

“An agreeable proposition.”

Castiel indulged in Dean to the point of drunkenness, yet as the time for second hour approached, he still wasn’t sated.

But they had to stop. If Castiel missed Mr. Turner’s class, catching up would be difficult.

So he and Dean reluctantly parted ways. He scurried to Mr. Turner’s class and took his seat beside Hannah, who stared at him with wide eyes.

“What have you been doing?” she asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”

“Your face is red. . . oh, here.” She reached for his shirt. Just as he was about to object, she fixed the buttons. Apparently one of them had been in the wrong hole, and another had been left hanging loosely, unattached.

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbled, abashed.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean recalled the sight of Cas this morning, skin deliciously flushed as they made out in the boys’ bathroom. How he’d bared his neck as if in submission, seemingly subconsciously, as Dean had licked ever downward. It had been frickin’ hot. It was all Dean could do not to gorge on his boyfriend.

His _boyfriend_.

It still sounded strange to him.

Besides, Cas wasn’t just a boyfriend, he was so much more—

Dean remembered Saturday night in Gabriel’s apartment, how petrified Cas had looked when Dean had gone too far. The panic in his eyes when Dean retreated, the fear that Dean would grow tired of him if they didn’t have sex soon.

His heart had throbbed as Cas detailed his insecurities.

As if sex was the most important thing to Dean. Yeah, sex with Cas would be beyond awesome, but if he wasn’t comfortable with it, Dean was fine with that. There were plenty of ways to get physical without sex, and even if those things were off the table . . . well, Dean loved Cas’s company.

As he approached the front of the school, Dean pushed thoughts of Cas to the side so they wouldn’t distract him while he was with Sam. When he’d almost reached the front, he spotted Sam talking to one of those mathletes—was her name Jess?—and paused. He didn’t want to interrupt Sam while he was gettin’ to know the chick. She seemed cool, a lot better than Ruby. Sam and the girl were grinning stupidly at each other—jeez, they were friggin’ besotted.

Kevin shuffled toward them and yelled , “Jess, you comin’?!”

Jess glanced at Sam before answering. “Yeah.” She flashed Sam an apologetic smile and skipped after Kevin. Dean watched as the two of them joined the other freshman mathletes and slid into Mrs. Tran’s car, Kevin throwing a glare Sam’s way before he did so. Sam stared at the car as it pulled away.

When Dean approached him, Sam lamented, “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“Dunno. You were pretty shitty to him.”

Sam winced. Maybe those had been harsh words, but they were true. Still, Sam’s shame was painful to see. “Yeah.”

“That girl seems to like you a lot, though.”

Sam brightened. “Jess? Yeah, she’s nice.”

Dean snorted. “Nice, huh?” Sam flushed. “Who knows, maybe she can help convince Kevin to give you another chance.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam scoffed. Dean tried to think of a way to bring up Sam’s spirits, but Sam turned his back on him and started heading toward the Impala. Dean followed, frustrated that he could do nothing to encourage Sam.

When Dean pulled up to the house, he noticed Mom’s car was there. What was she doing home?

Sam and he traipsed to the front door; then Dean unlocked it, threw it open, and stepped inside.

“Surprise!” a gaggle of voices yelled.

All of his friends were waiting in the living room. Benny with his arm around Jo, Anna, Andy, Garth, Hannah, and Charlie. Plus, Mom.

But—

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.

“He said his dad wouldn’t let him come,” Sam replied.

“Oh.” Dean directed his attention to his friends. “Wow. Thanks, guys.”

Mom’s eyes sparkled. “It was Sam’s idea.”

“He set everything up,” Charlie added.

Dean examined the festive decorations, the banner proclaiming, “Happy Birthday, Dean!” The cake _and_ pie lying on the kitchen table, along with a stack of presents.

“This is amazing.” He turned to his brother. “Thanks, Sam.”

Sam blushed. “It was nothing,” he mumbled.

“No, really. You’re the most _awesome_ brother ever.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you get mad at me,” Sam teased.

“Hey, don’t push it, pipsqueak.” Everyone laughed, and Sam looked like he wanted to disappear.

The party was great, and Dean received some fantastic gifts. He wished Cas could’ve been there, though. When Dean voiced the thought aloud, Sam gave him an odd look. But just as soon as it’d appeared, Sam’s expression changed. Had Dean imagined it? If not, what did it mean?

Nevertheless, he could safely say this was one of the best birthdays he’d ever had. A surprise party from his friends, mom, and brother—what wasn’t there to love about that? The make-out session with Cas this morning, and a rockin’ Saturday night, despite its interruption by Gabriel.

Dean sure was one lucky son of a bitch.


	17. Festering Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for child abuse, a homophobic slur, and a bit of self-harm.
> 
> Since the holidays are coming up and I'm working on my Reverse Bang fic, this will probably be the last update until January. So, happy holidays, readers!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is much welcome and appreciated!

After fencing, Dean met Sam on the soccer field; then they ambled toward the Impala together. Sam usually liked to gab about his day on the drive home, but he was strangely quiet today.

As Dean pulled into the driveway, Sam finally turned to him. When he spoke, it felt like someone had stolen Dean’s oxygen.

“How did you ask Castiel out?”

Dean hoped he hid his surprise well. “What the hell you talkin’ about, Sammy?” he scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes. “C’mon. I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were.”

“But you’re goin’ out with him, aren’t you?” Dean glared at him. “I mean, y’all are always starin’ at each other, and at your birthday party last week, you were all ‘I want Cas here.’”

“That’s ’cause he’s my best friend.”

“He’s more than your best friend, dude. When Kevin was my best friend, we didn’t act like that.” Dean and Sam examined each other silently for a few minutes until Sam broke the spell. “So. He is your boyfriend, right?”

“What if he is?” Dean replied defensively. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Got a problem with that?”

Sam broke into a huge grin, making him look like a human puppy dog. “I knew it!” He slapped Dean on the knee.

Dean couldn’t meet Sam’s eye. “You’re okay with that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um. ’Cause Cas is a guy . . . ”

Sam blinked. “So?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and tapped his palms on the steering wheel. “I just thought . . . ”

“What, that I’m some homophobic asshole? C’mon, Dean. You know me better than that.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled absently. “Hey, listen. You can’t tell Mom and Dad, okay?”

“Duh. Dad’d skin you alive.”

“And Cas’s dad would kill him,” Dean muttered to himself, suddenly aware of the enormous risks he and Cas were taking by pursuing their relationship. Mr. Novak had already hurt Cas so damn much, and if he found out about Dean and Cas. Well. If he was as homophobic as Cas claimed, he’d probably tear Cas apart in a way Dean couldn’t imagine.

“Dean, you all right?” Sam asked.

Dean realized he’d been gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He loosened his hold and answered, “Yeah, Sammy.” He paused before inquiring, “So, why were you askin’ me that, anyway?”

“What?”

“How I asked Cas out.”

Sam flushed. “Oh. It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit, Sammy.” Sam winced, and Dean smirked. “It’s that Jess girl, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You wanna ask her out, Sammy?” Dean teased.

“Maybe?”

“Then just do it.”

“Is that what you did with Cas?”

“Yeah,” Dean responded after a minute. That was the truth, in a way. He’d just dived in for the kiss on that fateful night, and everything had changed.

And despite the risks, he could never regret it.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sam had been hanging out with Jess after school on the days he didn’t have soccer practice. Eventually, Jess’s core group of friends, including Kevin, began to include Sam in their activities.

But the bitch still hadn’t asked her out yet, even though Dean reminded him about it every single day.

A golden opportunity presented itself one Friday afternoon. Apparently, Kevin was having a co-ed sleepover (with his mom’s supervision, of course), and, at Jess’s insistence, had invited Sam at the last minute.

Sam retreated from the area around Mrs. Tran’s car and approached Dean. “What do you think?”

“You should go.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea? Kevin’s just being polite.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, you can’t win him over if you stay away from him.”

Sam looked pensive, so Dean decided to tell the Trans they needed to ask their parents for permission first. Besides, Sam needed to pack his stuff.

At home, Sam shoved a few items into a bag while Dean tried to call Dad several times. He never answered. Mom had gone out of town again, and Dean didn’t want to bug her in case she was busy. But with Dad not picking up, he really had no choice. Luckily, Mom did answer, and she said yes because she trusted Mrs. Tran.

Dean was relieved. Dad hadn’t been too bad the past couple of times Mom had left town, but you never knew with him. Dean would just as soon keep Sammy away from the house.

Dean dropped Sam off at the Trans then chilled in front of the living room TV. It got boring after a while, however. He called Charlie, but she was busy. He thought about phoning Cas, but then he remembered that Cas was staying with his dad tonight, and of course that bastard usually grilled Cas if he tried to go out. He might get suspicious if Cas spent too much time with Dean.

Dean settled in for a dull night. He ordered a pepperoni pizza and devoured most of it while watching TV and playing video games.

He must’ve dozed off on the couch, for the next thing he knew, his eyes snapped open after he felt someone kick his ankle.

“What the fuck?” Dean mumbled as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Now, is that any way to speak to your old man?” Dad drawled from above him. Dean rolled up his eyes until they met Dad’s and sat up straighter, massaging his temples.

“Shit, what time is it?” he grunted.

“’S almost midnight, kiddo. And watch your language.”

“Whatever,” Dean sighed to himself.

Dad backhanded him on the jaw, crushing the inside of his cheek against a couple of teeth. “Ow!” Dean rubbed at the spot.

“You should show me some respect,” Dad enunciated, his clear speech contrasting sharply with the reek of alcohol on his breath. He glanced at the mess on the coffee table. “What’s this? And where’s Sam?”

“Sorry,” Dean offered as he stood up. “I’ll clean it up.” He gathered all the junk and carried it to the kitchen, dumping the waste into a trash can then wrapping up a couple of leftover pizza slices and shoving them into the fridge.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Dad pointed out when Dean returned to the living room, “about Sam.”

“Oh. Sam’s at Kevin’s.”

Dad’s smile looked dangerous. Dean took a couple of steps back. “You let him go without my permission?”

“Um, we got Mom’s.”

Dad crept toward him as Dean backed away. “You had the gall to pester her when she’s _working_?!”

Dean shrugged then winced as his back finally hit the wall. “I figured she wouldn’t answer if she was busy.”

Dad was inches away from him now, huffing into Dean’s face. “You inconsiderate piece of shit.”

Dean bent his neck far back, almost too far, to escape Dad’s rancid breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Dad spat. Dean reached up to sweep away some spittle that had landed on his nose, but Dad swatted his hand away, narrowing hazy hate-filled eyes at Dean. “You think ‘sorry’ can ever fix your damn screw-ups?!”

“Dad—” Dean exhaled.

Dad slammed a palm against the wall, grazing Dean’s ear. “Shut up, you fuckin’ faggot!”

“What?” Dean gasped. Had Dad somehow found out about him and Cas? Dean’s stomach sank. Oh, God. If Dad had found out about it, what would he do—?

And he would probably tell Mr. Novak, too. That motherfucker would probably hurt Cas worse than ever before—

“Look at you. You’re a sissy,” Dad hissed. So Dad didn’t know about him and Cas. He relaxed even though the words hurt. “What’re you into? The goddamn _theater_?! _Books_?! And now—” he poked at the ring Cas had given him. “—you wear a damn ring!” Dean didn’t know how to respond without inflaming Dad’s temper. Dad gripped Dean’s chin with one hand. “You don’t even look like a fuckin’ _man_. You’re such a pretty boy, sometimes I wonder if you’re a girl.” Dean flinched when Dad scraped a fingernail down his cheekbone. “Well? What’ve you got to say for yourself?” Dean should utter _something_ , but he knew that one wrong word would set Dad off. As his mind scrambled for suitable words, a rogue tear escaped his eye and landed on Dad’s thumb. “What the fuck are you cryin’ for?!” Dad yelled. He punched Dean in the nose, and Dean held a hand up to it, feeling for blood.

“Dad—”

“Shut your damn mouth!”

And Dad lost control.

Dean didn’t know what to do but endure it. After Dad kneed him in the gut, he fell to the ground. He held his arms up to shield himself, but Dad slapped them away.

“Sorry ass excuse for a son,” Dad muttered as he rained blows. Occasionally, his wedding ring would catch in Dean’s skin, the fabric of his clothes, scratching, drawing blood.

Thank fuck Sam wasn’t here.

He let Dad do what he would, but eventually he realized he couldn’t take anymore. He’d pass out or something. He gathered what strength he could muster and kneed Dad in the groin. Dad howled in pain, and Dean sprang to his feet and dashed outside, fueled solely by adrenaline. There was no way he could outrun Dad, however, once the guy regained his composure. He rushed toward the bushes in the front yard and hid behind them.

“Dean! Come back here, boy!” Dad shouted a minute later. Dean remained crouched behind the bushes, afraid to draw attention to himself. After forever, he thought he heard Dad shuffle back inside. He dared to peak around the bushes and found that he was alone. Good. But what was he going to do now? He couldn’t go back inside, not with Dad in there. And out here, it was so cold, and he was wearing short sleeves.

_Cas_ , he thought. _I’ll go to Cas’s_.

He limped and took frequent rests, but somehow he reached his destination.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel read a few more paragraphs of _The Sound and the Fury_ ; then his eyes slid closed. In English, for the next assignment they’d been given a choice out of two William Faulkner novels, _The Sound and the Fury_ and _Light in August_. Mr. Shurley had told them that the former was the more difficult option while the latter was the longer. Usually, Castiel would have picked the easier book, for English was not his strong suit, but Dean had convinced him to choose _The Sound and the Fury_. Out of everyone in the entire class, they were the only ones who had elected to read it. Dean had explained the significance of the title to him, the allusion to Shakespeare about life being “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” The book was indeed challenging, but surprisingly Castiel found himself enjoying it. It was interesting to get such an intimate look at the characters, and Dean could always clarify matters if he was confused.

The window rattled, startling Castiel out of his slumber. At first he thought it was the wind, but when he’d almost drifted off once more, he heard the noise again. He hopped out of bed and drew open the blinds. And there, on the other side—

“Dean?” Dean nodded, and Castiel unlatched the window. Dean tumbled in through the opening, and Castiel gasped at the sight.

Dean was bloody all over. His nose was injured again, a black ring surrounded his left eye, and he bore bruises and cuts everywhere. “Your father?” Castiel guessed. Dean nodded, and Castiel crouched beside Dean and smoothed a hand through his hair. A clump of blood lingered near his hairline at the temple. “Oh, Dean,” Castiel sighed. “Where is Sam?”

“At Kevin’s,” Dean coughed. “Thank God.”

“We should get you cleaned up,” Castiel pronounced. He tiptoed to the linen closet and grabbed two towels then went to the bathroom to soak them in water. He retrieved a bar of soap before returning to his bedroom.

“Hold still,” Castiel urged as he began to rub one of the towels over Dean’s skin. Dean winced at the pain but clenched his teeth to keep himself from stirring. When he’d cleaned Dean as best he could, Castiel contemplated what he should do with the towels. If Father discovered them, he’d have too many questions. Castiel hid them under the bed for the time being.

Dean collapsed onto the floor when Castiel released his grip. Castiel left him alone and rummaged in his drawers until he found a T-shirt and sweatpants that he believed might fit Dean. He carried them over to Dean and knelt beside him. “Can you stand up?” he asked.

“Uh. Yeah,” Dean muttered. Dean clambered to his feet, latching on to the bedpost to maintain his balance.

Castiel held out the shirt and pants toward him. “I thought you might wish to change your clothes.”

Dean glanced down at his green flannel shirt and jeans, toyed with a spot of blood on his thigh. “Um. Yeah, sounds good.” He accepted the proffered items, and Castiel turned around to give Dean some privacy.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean croaked.

“Yes?”

“You know you don’t have to do that. Um. I mean. We’ve seen each other already, right?”

“Oh.” Dean was correct, of course. Castiel turned back around. Dean had already switched out his pants, but now his torso was bare. His gorgeous, muscular torso, only slightly marred by the scratches from John Winchester’s attack.

And Dean was _his_. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat at the thought. Dean, wonderful Dean, beautiful inside and out, had chosen _him_ when he could probably have anyone he desired.

Dean waved a hand in Castiel’s face. “Earth to Cas.”

Castiel blinked. “What? Oh, I apologize. I must have gotten distracted.”

“Yeah.” Dean pulled the shirt over his head and groaned as he tugged it on. “Everything hurts like a bitch.”

“I imagine,” Castiel murmured. “Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“Okay. You wanna get the air mattress?”

Castiel contemplated the matter and shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

Castiel’s face heated up. “I thought, if you were not averse to it, that you could sleep in my bed with me?” Dean appeared taken aback. “It is more comfortable than the air mattress and . . . and, you, yes, that would be good for you, would it not?” Dean gazed back at him silently, and Castiel swallowed. “Only if you want. Um. Forget it. I suppose that was an idiotic idea.”

Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “No, Cas. Just. You sure you’re okay with that?”

“Yes.” Dean looked skeptical, and Castiel could understand why. “This is not like two weeks ago.” Tonight was a completely different situation than Dean’s birthday celebration. There was no danger of sex, and kissing was the farthest thing from their minds right now.

“All right. Just as long as it’s all good.”

“It is.”

Castiel helped Dean onto his queen-size bed and crawled in on the other side. Dean lay on his side, his back to Castiel.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“You are welcome.” Everything was quiet for a few minutes, but then he heard Dean sob. “Dean?”

“What?” Dean sniffled.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel hated that he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“Whatever.” Another spell of silence ensued before Dean spoke again. “He’s not always an asshole, you know.”

“Your father?”

“Yeah.” Castiel found that hard to believe. “Every spring, we go to the lake and fish. Just him and Sammy and me. Those fishing trips . . . they were some of the best times of my life.” Castiel doubted that any fishing trip, no matter how enjoyable, could make up for what John Winchester had done to his sons. “I just wish . . . why the fuck does he have to get like this?”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He acted on instinct, snuggling up to Dean and wrapping his arms around him. He kissed the back of Dean’s neck and said, “Shhh. Go to sleep, Dean.”

Dean burrowed against Castiel, and Castiel hummed a calming melody until they were both asleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean awoke shivering, missing the warmth of the body that had lain next to his all night. He noticed that he’d kicked the covers off of himself at some point, and now he pulled them up to his chin.

“Cas?” Dean called when he realized he was alone.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas replied as he glided into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him. “I apologize for leaving. I had to utilize the restroom.”

Dean smiled to himself. Cas’s word choices were always somehow dorky yet adorable at the same time. “Why’s it so damn cold?”

“Father wishes to keep our bills low.” Cas dug around in his dresser, and then it hit Dean that Cas was clad only in gray boxers. Dean couldn’t help but admire his calves, the taut muscles of his compact chest. Cas moved with no self-consciousness whatsoever, which struck Dean as odd given the prim behavior of last night.

Cas grabbed a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt and threw them on. “I am afraid I will have to leave you alone for a while. I must prepare breakfast for Father.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll just go home then.”

Cas gave him an inscrutable look. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” Dean responded as he bounded off the bed, flinching at the soreness of his body. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

“Yeah. Mom should be home by now.”

“But can you walk?”

“Uh. I think so.” Dean took a few steps to illustrate. He winced when he got too cocky with the last one and his pain flared up anew. “As long as I take it slow.”

“If you would like to go back to sleep—”

Dean waved a dismissive hand at him. “No, Cas. The longer I stay, the bigger the chance your dad will find out. But thanks. For everything.” Dean yanked open the window as Cas approached him.

“Take care,” Cas urged.

“I’ll try.”

Cas leaned in and pecked him on the lips. Dean smiled at him fondly and snatched at his hair to extend the kiss a second more before releasing him.

“Bye, Cas.”

“Good-bye, Dean.”

By the time he reached his house, everything hurt like a bitch. He hoped the door was unlocked and he could tiptoe inside without Mom and Dad noticing. He didn’t know if he could face their interrogation right now.

The door was unlocked, but as for avoiding his parents—

No such luck.

“Dean!” Mom called from the living room. Dean followed the sound of her voice as she continued to speak. “Where have you—oh, my God!” Mom gasped when Dean stopped on the threshold. “What happened to you?”

Dad was sitting on the couch next to her, and Sam was perched on the easy chair. Sam was home already? That was surprising.

Dean shrugged. “Got in a fight.”

Mom’s eyes clouded. “Dean. You can’t—I don’t know why you’re acting out this way, but you can’t go on like this. I mean, look at you. What if it’s worse next time?”

“It won’t be,” Dean assured her.

“You can’t know that.”

“Dean-o,” Dad interjected, “tell me you at least gave the other guy as good as you got, huh?”

Dean gaped at him. Was he freakin’ _serious_? Did he really not remember last night, or was he just playing along with the ruse?

Mom slapped him on the shoulder. “John!”

“What?”

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Hey, a man’s gotta protect his honor.”

“I thought you were done with that macho posturing bullshit. What kind of example does that set for our boys, hmm?”

“You’re overreacting, Mary.”

“Overreacting! I—”

“A guy’s gotta show people you don’t mess with him.” He turned to Sam and Dean. “Am I right?”

“Uh huh,” Dean answered.

“You just don’t understand the politics of a man’s world, sweetheart.”

“Politics be damned! Look at Dean!”

“Yeah, I guess he does look pretty bad,” Dad acknowledged. “I don’t think he should keep doing this on a regular basis—”

“No.” Her gaze moved back to Dean. “Promise me you’ll try to avoid these fights from now on?”

“Sure,” Dean muttered before drifting to his room. As he spun around to shut the door, Sam ran smack into him. “Sammy, what the hell?!”

Sam slid inside and closed the door. “It was Dad, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. They sat down on the bed next to each other.

“Where’d you go? Cas’s?”

“Yep.”

Sam nodded. “Dean, I think we should tell Mom.”

“Sam, we’ve had this discussion a million fuckin’ times—”

“But look at you, Dean! You’ve got so many bruises. And Mom’s right. What if next time is worse. He could break a bone or—” Sam’s voice faded into a whimper with the last sentence.

Dean pulled Sam into a hug and clenched his teeth at the pain. “We’ll be okay, Sammy. Don’t worry.” He paused before changing the subject. “Now. How about that Jess, huh?” Dean elbowed him. “You ask her out or what?”

“Dean!”

“You tellin’ me you chickened out?” Sam flushed. “Oh, you sly dog! Well? How’d it go?”

“She said yes.”

“Awesome!” Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Then why’re you home so early?”

“Mrs. Tran had some errands to run, so she couldn’t watch over us anymore.”

“How about Kevin? How’d things go with him?”

“Good. I think he’s slowly starting to come around.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned, glad everything seemed to be going so well for his brother.

xxxxxxxxx

Castiel brushed his teeth then rushed to the kitchen. He was running late, and if Father were to notice—

“Castiel,” Father boomed as his son entered the kitchen. He pointed at his watch. “You were supposed to start breakfast ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, sir. I apologize.”

Father gestured at the gurgling coffeemaker. “I had to make the coffee myself.”

_Horrors_.

“What did you say?” Father asked him sharply.

“What?” Castiel replied. Oh, had he actually spoken the word aloud? He gulped at the thought.

Father slapped him on the cheek, and Castiel’s hand instinctively flew to the spot. “Do not take that sarcastic tone with me, son. Show some respect.”

“Yes, sir.” _No, Father. You do not deserve it._

Father plopped down at the table. “Now get my breakfast ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel prepared the pancake mix and poured the first serving of batter into a pan.

Father had just hit him. Of course, it did not compare with what Dean had endured last night, or even with other punishments Father had devised, but this time Father’s action lit something up within him. A festering resentment that bubbled underneath the surface.

_The status quo will last only a few more months,_ he told himself. _When I get to college, he will not be able to touch me._

But was that good enough? He was all alone. Dean could come to him when his father lashed out, but Castiel had no escape route. Gabriel would advise him to ignore Father and do whatever he wished, and Michael would claim that he should accept Father’s treatment as penance for Original Sin if nothing else.

But neither course suited him.

He glanced at Father, and a surge of pure hatred flowed through his veins. He wanted to wring Father’s neck.

Castiel shook his head to dispel the notion. How could he even contemplate something so vile?

Perhaps something rotten lay in his heart. Perhaps—perhaps he did deserve penance after all.

He pressed the tip of his index finger to the bottom of the pan, biting his lip to prevent himself from crying out. The burn felt good. Liberating.

He cooked a few more pancakes and set them on the table.


	18. Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update. The holidays were busy; then I was sick. And of course I had to work on my SPN Reverse Bang fic, which has now been posted. The next update shouldn't take as long.
> 
> Warning for child abuse and some self-harm. The next three or four chapters are going to have some intense moments, but there is a happy ending at the end of it all (as I periodically remind myself). 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome and appreciated!

“Michael,” Father intoned over yet another Wednesday dinner at Angeli’s. “Do you have any Valentine’s Day plans?”

Michael swallowed his food and delicately wiped his mouth with a napkin. “No, Father. You know very well that I am not seeing anyone.”

“And that’s your mistake, Michael,” Father hissed, slapping a hand on the table. Michael flinched at the malice in his tone. Castiel stared at Father’s profile, stunned by the sudden hostility. He had never heard Father sound so disapproving of Michael. “You’re, what, twenty-seven? You should be getting married soon, boy!”

Michael gently placed his fork on his plate and directed a dispassionate gaze at Father. “I do not wish to marry just for the sake of marriage, Father. I have not found the right person.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still not over Muriel,” Father spat.

Michael had dated Muriel for three years, and he’d been smitten. But during January of last year, he had broken up with her. As far as Castiel could discern, Michael had severed the relationship, yet he has been pining for Muriel ever since. Castiel did not understand the issue.

“I loved—I still love her,” Michael said softly.

Father smacked Michael’s hand, and Michael withdrew it from the table, glowering as he rubbed at it. “Do not speak such nonsense,” Father seethed. “You’re too good for that bitch anyway. Just as I was too good for Grace. That is why I shed no tears when she left.”

An eerie silence settled over the table. Michael remained completely still, his eyes filling with tears. Castiel watched him and Father, afraid of what might erupt.

“She was our _mother_ ,” Michael gritted out.

Father shrugged. “That was my only regret about the incident.”

“Oh, is that what you call it? An ‘incident’?” Michael twisted his hands together in his lap. “It’s more than that. You had something to do with it; you know it. You wouldn’t even let me search for her!”

“You needed to concentrate on your schoolwork.”

Michael’s face was now beet red. “Right, like that was all that fucking mattered.”

They had moved into uncharted territory. Castiel had never heard Michael curse in front of Father.

Father crooked an eyebrow and held up a finger. “Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that, Michael.”

“But—”

“ _Don’t_.”

Something in his expression must’ve given Michael pause. He glanced down at his plate and mumbled an apology.

“There, there. I know you didn’t mean it,” Father replied. “You’re a good boy, Michael.”

During the exchange, memories had returned unbidden. Mother soothing him, brushing back his hair with one hand, tucking him in. The whispered _“I love you”_ resounding in his ears as he drifted to sleep.

No, she had never loved him, not if she could leave him so easily.

Suddenly, Castiel was consumed by pure hatred. Hatred of Mother, for she’d left him. Hatred of Father, for he’d twisted discipline into something obscene in order to indulge his sadistic side. Hatred of Michael, for he was spineless, kowtowing to Father so quickly.

He hated them hated them _hated them all_.

Underneath the table, he dug his fingernails into his palms.

Poison thrummed through his body. He was damned.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel relaxed for the first time this week. His hatred had continued to fester, and he’d begun contemplating upsetting Father simply because he deserved to be punished. But here at the fencing tournament, his frustration had found an outlet. He was currently in first place, and Castiel felt alive, alert. He could beat anyone.

And hanging out in the hotel room with Anna, it was nice. They’d prepared hot cocoa and split a bag of sugar cookies. Anna shoved a few into her mouth now, crumbs sticking to her lips as she swallowed. She leaned back, angling her head toward Castiel as she flipped channels.

“Stop me if you see anything you like,” she said.

A knock on the door startled them. “I’ll get it,” Anna announced as she hopped off the bed, frowning. She peered through the peephole and gasped.

“Who is it, Anna?” Castiel asked.

Anna smiled to herself. She flung open the door, and Dean stumbled inside, a bouquet of blue orchids clutched in one hand.

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed. “What are you . . . ”

“Surprise!” Dean yelled somewhat sheepishly as he plopped down next to Castiel and shoved the flowers at him. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Castiel frowned. “Valentine’s Day is Monday.”

Dean flushed. “Well, yeah. But I thought it’d be nice to come to one of your tournaments—”

Castiel threw his arms around Dean, tears starting to his eyes. Dean was so thoughtful, and Castiel’s heart soared. “Thank you,” he whispered into Dean’s shoulder.

“’Welcome,” Dean murmured as they drew apart.

“Oooooookay,” Anna interjected. Dean and Cas turned to her. “This was cute and all, but don’t mind me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Anna,” Castiel replied.

Anna waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Anna, I would hate to—”

“Yeah, we’re not kickin’ you out,” Dean added.

“No, I want to leave, trust me. I feel like I’m intruding.” She barked a short laugh. “I’ll just go back to my room and snuggle with a book or something.”

“You could always join the party,” Castiel pointed out.

“Fuck that.” She rolled her eyes. Apparently, Anna had grown really, _really_ tired of parties. She grabbed her mug of hot chocolate and exited the room.

“There’s a party?” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel sighed. “We can go, if you wish.”

Dean ran a finger along Castiel’s jawline, and Castiel leaned toward him. “Nah. I came here to see you, not any of those other asshats.”

Castiel picked up the flowers he’d dropped on the bed. “These are lovely, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, I thought you’d like them.” He cupped Castiel’s face with one hand. “Babe.”

_Babe_. Dean had never called him that before. Castiel’s heart overflowed with something he couldn’t name, something wondrous.

Castiel lightly pressed his lips to Dean’s. Then his hands were cradling Dean’s chin, urging Dean onto his back as his lips opened in invitation. Dean took the bait, his tongue swiftly darting into Castiel’s mouth.

“Mmmm, Cas,” Dean breathed. Castiel’s eyes met his, noted that the hazel-green orbs sparkled with joy.

Castiel nipped once at Dean’s bottom lip then rolled off of him, settling on his back and snuggling up to Dean’s side.

“What’s this you’re watchin’?” Dean inquired. “ _Fear Factor_?”

“Anna and I hadn’t settled on anything yet.” He reached over Dean’s body and snatched up the remote. “I can change it if you like.”

Dean stilled Castiel’s hand with his own. “No, Cas, this’s good. Look, they’re about to lay down in a bed of roaches.”

Castiel squinted at the television. Dean was right, but Castiel could not fathom why anyone would do such a thing. “Why?”

“If they don’t chicken out, they could win, like, fifty thousand dollars.”

Castiel frowned. “And people enjoy watching this?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Dean and he viewed the program for a few minutes. The first woman refused to perform the stunt. The next woman was braver. She lay down among the cockroaches, and Castiel was not impressed by this program. Large cockroaches started hissing and crawling along the woman’s bare arms and legs. Dean shrieked.

“Ohmigod that’s disgusting change it change it change it!” Dean howled.

Castiel flipped to the next channel, which was airing a cooking show. Dean sighed in relief, and Castiel smirked. “I never thought you would be the squeamish type.”

“Shut up,” Dean muttered. His eyes alit on the half-full plate sitting on the bedside table. “Awesome, cookies!” He grabbed two and shoved them into his mouth before spotting Castiel’s mug of hot chocolate. “Is there any for me?” he pouted.

Castiel rolled his eyes affectionately. Sometimes Dean reminded him of a child. “Yes, Dean.” He bounded off the bed and found a Styrofoam cup by the coffeemaker. “We only had two mugs,” he explained to Dean before filling the cup with water from the bathroom sink. He stuck the cup in the microwave. A minute later, the microwave beeped, and Castiel dumped the hot cocoa mix into the cup before handing it to Dean. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled. Castiel picked up his mug, and Dean clinked his cup against it. “Cheers, Cas.” He grinned, and Castiel returned the smile.

“Cheers.”

Castiel assured Dean he could stay in the room all night. After all, his assigned roommate had decided he didn’t want to sleep in the same room as Castiel. Dean gave him a pitying look, but Castiel actually found Justin’s attitude a blessing. Now he and Dean could do what they wished without fear of discovery.

They binged on cookies and hot chocolate while watching the silliest shows they stumbled upon. A pleasant warmth overtook Castiel, and he reclined, resting his head on the pillow. His eyes hurt, so he closed them. He drifted into an in-between state, neither awake nor asleep. Strong, supportive arms wrapped around him; then sleep came.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

A loud-pitched wail woke Dean up. He glanced at the screeching digital alarm clock and shut it off. 7:00. Damn, that was early for a Saturday, but Cas probably needed to get up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have set the thing.

He took a minute to admire how peaceful Cas looked asleep in his arms. It was a shame to wake him up, but dude had a tournament to go to. “Cas,” he murmured, jostling him gently.

“Mmm,” Cas whined, burrowing deeper into Dean’s arms, hair flying in all sorts of directions. Okay, that was way too adorable.

He shook Cas again. “Time to get up.”

Cas nuzzled Dean’s neck. “I don’t want to.”

“I know, but you’ve got some ass to kick, right?”

“Mmm. What time is it?”

Dean squinted at the clock. “7:03.”

“Oh.” He sat up and stretched languorously, reminding Dean of a cat. “I suppose I must get up, then.”

“Do you need to go down and eat breakfast or somethin’?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “But you cannot come. I’m sorry.” Dean opened his mouth, but Cas forestalled him. “Ms. Mills might become suspicious . . . I am not sure you are allowed to be here.”

“Oh. In that case, I’ll just pick somethin’ up on the way.”

“Do you know where the tournament is? If not, perhaps you could follow the bus.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

After Cas dressed and went down for breakfast, Dean headed toward the Impala, where he’d left his bag. He carried it to a McDonald’s across the street and changed his clothes before ordering an Egg McMuffin. By the time he’d returned to his car, the students were piling onto the school bus in the hotel’s parking lot.

Eventually, the bus pulled into a local high school. Dean snagged a parking space and waited until the fencers had gone inside before doing the same. Groups of students were congregating all over the school, and it took him a while to find Cas. He and Anna were chatting alone, away from all the other Lawrence Magnet competitors.

“Hey, guys,” Dean called as he approached him.

“Hi, Dean,” Anna replied. She eyed Cas then smiled. “Cas was tellin’ me y’all had a great time last night.”

Dean sat down at the table across from them, ears burning. “Uh. Yeah.”

“So . . . what did you two get up to?” she asked, tone entirely too suggestive.

“Anna!” Cas spluttered.

“What?” Anna responded, all mock-innocence.

“Not much,” Dean inserted. “We just hung out.”

“Hung out. Right.” Cas reddened with embarrassment, and Dean decided to change the subject.

“So, why aren’t you guys over there with the others?” he inquired, hooking a thumb at their fellow students behind them.

“They don’t like me,” Cas said softly.

“Why the hell not?”

“Dean,” Cas bit out. “You do realize I had no friends until I met you?”

“Oh.” Shit, Dean had forgotten about that. Cas was so damn loveable that Dean couldn’t fathom why anyone wouldn’t like talking to him.

“They used to be friends with Anna, but now that she spends time with me, they seldom speak to her.” He gave Anna an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Anna asserts. “Most of them are a bunch of phonies anyway. Besides, the whole Crowley thing is part of it, too. That and the fact that I don’t go to parties anymore.”

“That’s messed up,” Dean said.

An adult appeared and posted something on the wall nearby. Cas jumped up. “She’s just posted the assignments for the first match of the day,” he explained. Anna joined him, and they rushed off to examine the piece of paper.

Dean watched Cas during the first three regular bouts, impressed. He’d known Cas was good, but _damn_. He had such fast reflexes, he executed ingenious feints, and he implemented excellent strategy. It was kinda hot. No, scratch that, it was _damn fuckin’ hot_.

When you looked at Cas, he seemed like nothin’ but an awkward, nerdy dude. It was amazing so much talent hid underneath that exterior.

The top eight competitors went on to compete for the tournament title in the sabre. Cas was the number one seed, and Dean wasn’t surprised.

“Wow. You really are the best in the whole damn state,” Dean marveled.

Cas flushed. “I actually haven’t been doing so well lately. This . . . is an anomaly.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Bullshit. You’re awesome.” Cas flashed a wan smile.

And there, right before Dean’s eyes, Cas won the whole damn tournament. It wasn’t even close.

“Fuckin’ A, Cas!” Dean exclaimed as he rushed up to Cas after he’d received his trophy. He embraced him, closing his eyes tightly. Then he remembered they were in public and abruptly pulled back. Many of the people nearby were giving them odd looks. Dean slapped him on the back in a manly fashion and said, “Um. Good job.” He hoped he'd dispelled the others’ suspicions.

Cas grinned self-consciously. “Thank you, Dean.”

As the crowd dispersed, Dean asked, “Wanna ride home with me, Cas?”

“That would be lovely, Dean. But I should tell Ms. Mills so she doesn’t think I have gone missing.”

“Cool.”

He followed Cas until they found Ms. Mills, who did a double take when she saw Dean. “Hi, Dean. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Dean clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I just felt like watchin’ my best friend.”

“He did well.” She turned to Cas. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He paused before posing the question. “May I ride home with Dean?”

Ms. Mills thought about the matter for a minute. “Well. I really shouldn’t . . . but all right.” Cas and Dean relaxed. “But if your dad asks, I didn’t know, okay?” Cas nodded.

As Dean drove onto the highway, Cas called his brother Michael to let him know he didn’t need to pick him up from the school. The next three hours passed quickly, Dean educating Cas about all the great music he was playing.

Once he was in the neighborhood, he parked a couple of houses down from Cas’s place so his dad wouldn’t see him.

“Bye, Cas,” Dean said, kissing him on the cheek.

“Good-bye, Dean. Thank you for coming.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Once inside, Castiel placed his bag on his bed then found Father in the living room. “Hello, Father,” he greeted.

“Good evening, Castiel,” Father replied. He stood up, and Castiel noticed he held the switch. Why? What could he possibly have done? He took a step back, but Father’s gaze pinned him in place. “You did not make your bed yesterday.”

“Oh. I must have forgotten. I’m sorry.” Surely that couldn’t be his chief offense? Yes, Father had scolded him before for neglecting to make up his bed, but he’d never disciplined him (or Michael or Gabriel) beyond that for such an oversight.

Father toyed with the switch in his hand. “No one likes a slob, Castiel. You will learn not to be so careless again.” He gestured at the couch. “Bend over and drop your pants.”

“Do you really wish to punish me for forgetting to make up the bed?” Castiel flung out, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. His eyes widened at his impulsive words. Father would be more than angry now.

Father tapped the switch against his free hand. “Do not question me, Castiel. I am your father.”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir.” What could he do but obey? Michael said everyone deserved to be punished for Original Sin, and while Castiel did not believe that notion, it contained a kernel of truth. He did deserve this. For the contempt he’d displayed toward Father. For his ego, his heart swelling with pride when he’d won the tournament today. The victory had made him too arrogant.

So he told himself as Father administered the lashes.

When Father was finished, Castiel collapsed on the floor and drew his pants and boxers back up, attempting to wipe up blood he felt but couldn’t see. Father gazed down balefully at him, drops of red dotting his fingers.

“Make me some dinner,” Father ordered, scowling at his hands. “You have sullied me. I must shower.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel whispered, suppressing the tears until Father left the room.

Castiel stumbled to the kitchen, washed his hands, and set a pot of noodles to boil.

Hatred flared up, just as it had on Wednesday.

For Father, of course. For Mother, Michael, even Gabriel. They’d left him here alone, and Father’s behavior was growing more erratic.

Why had they abandoned him?

No, they hadn’t abandoned him. He was being hysterical. Michael cared. Gabriel cared. He was being unfair to them.

But why did they have to leave him here alone?

He couldn’t blame them for that. He could only blame himself for his rage, his unjustified resentment.

He was rotten, and no doubt Father knew.

All this rapidly swirling emotion . . . it was too much. He needed to direct it somewhere.

But there was nowhere to direct it.

He switched on another burner on the stove and pressed his left forearm to it. It burned. Oh, how it burned, but he also felt relieved. The poison was seeping out of him.

Just as Father entered the kitchen, Castiel removed his arm and turned off the extra burner. Father eyed the red welt on his arm. “Where did you get that?”

“I accidentally burned it. While I was preparing the spaghetti.

“You deserve it if you’re going to be as idiotic as that.”

Father returned to the living room, and Castiel wondered what he should do about what had just happened. He couldn’t let anyone else see the burn, especially Dean, Gabriel, or Michael. It was fairly obvious, and they would draw the wrong conclusions.

xxxxxxxxxx

For Valentine’s Day, Dean and Cas were going on a double date with Jo and Benny. That way, their families would be less suspicious of them. He and Cas would tell their parents they were studying with friends.

Cas showed up at Dean’s house with a backpack in tow. After they waved good-bye to the Winchesters, they slid into the Impala, and Cas unzipped his backpack as Dean tossed his into the backseat. He pulled out a huge heart-shaped box of chocolates and held it out toward Dean, smile shy. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean,” he said softly.

Dean snatched the box from him. “Seriously? Chocolates?” Talk about a chick flick gesture.

Cas froze. “I was under the impression that this was an appropriate Valentine’s Day gift?”

Dean elbowed him. “Yeah, Cas. Just teasin’.” He tore open the box, unwrapped a Lindor truffle, and popped it into his mouth. “This is the good stuff, man,” he commented as he chewed. He offered the box to Cas. “Want one?” Cas grabbed a piece. Dean continued, “Sorry I didn’t get anythin’ for you. I kinda spent most of my money on those flowers and then gas and stuff this weekend—”

“That is perfectly all right, Dean. I enjoyed our weekend very much.”

“Thanks,” Dean murmured, reddening. “So, we’re goin’ to this place called Cajun Landing. It’s new, kinda a hole-in-the-wall place; Benny wants to go there. That cool with you?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Cajun Landing was located in one of the less prosperous parts of town, not far from Jo’s house and her mom’s bar. When they arrived, Dean parked next to Benny’s jeep. He and Cas strolled inside and easily spotted Benny and Jo. (The place had only five tables, and Jo and Benny were the only customers in the restaurant.) They waved Dean and Cas over, and they sat in the booth across from them. A waitress brought them four menus, and Dean scanned his.

“This joint’s the real deal,” Benny opined, not even cracking open his menu. “It’s the only good Cajun restaurant I’ve found outside of Louisiana. Most places that say they’re Cajun’re really just spicy.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously, there’s more to it than that.”

“Any suggestions?” Dean asked.

“It’s all good, but if you’ve never had it, you _need_ to try some gumbo.”

“Gumbo it is,” Dean muttered to himself.

The waitress approached. “Have you decided?”

“Gumbo.”

“I would like to have gumbo as well,” Cas added.

“Crawfish etouffee,” Benny said.

“Fried catfish,” Jo put in.

Benny gaped at her. “Seriously, hon? You can get that anywhere.”

“We do prepare it differently—” the waitress began, but Benny’s glare silenced her.

“ _Fine_ ,” Jo conceded. “I’ll have crawfish etouffee.”

“That wasn’t very nice, Benny,” Cas pointed out once the waitress had left.

“You’re tellin’ me.”

Benny looked ashamed. “Sorry, hon. I guess I just get a little emotional over this food.”

Jo offered him a gracious smile. “Apology accepted.”

When they received their food, Benny dumped a hearty amount of tabasco sauce on it then doused it with something labeled “Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning.” Dean stared.

“What?” Benny huffed. “Everythin’s better with Tony’s. Try it on the gumbo.”

Dean took his first spoonful of gumbo and coughed. “It’s already hot enough, man.”

“Can’t take authenticity? Wimp.”

“I shall try it,” Cas decided. He snatched up the Tony’s, shook some onto his gumbo, and swirled the broth around to mix up the ingredients. He scooped up his first spoonful and looked thoughtful as he swallowed. He sipped some water then pronounced, “It is quite hot, but it also contains a much richer flavor than that. I like it.”

Benny chuckled. “My man.” He ate a few bites then continued, “I wonder if Mom’d let me have a crawfish boil in the spring.”

“Crawfish boil?” Dean repeated.

“Yeah. You get a bunch of crawfish, spice ’em up, boil ’em.” Dean snorted. _No shit._ “Don’t know where I’d get live crawfish around here, though. Maybe this place’d know.”

Jo looked horrified. “You boil them _alive_?”

“Yep.”

That wasn’t news to Dean. Lobsters and shit were boiled alive, too. But he wondered about something else. “How do you eat ’em?” After all, they were covered in a damn shell.

“Ya twist the tail off.”

Now _that_ sounded disgusting. Dean didn’t know about this crawfish boil.

For dessert, they ordered beignets and bananas foster bread pudding, both of which everyone shared. Dean had to admit the stuff was delicious. Not as good as pie, of course, but nothing was.

After they’d paid their bill, Dean drove Cas back to their neighborhood. He stopped the car a few houses down from Cas’s place. “So. What’d you think?”

“It was a nice dinner,” Cas replied.

“Yeah?” Cas nodded. Dean threw his arm around the back of Cas’s seat and leaned toward him. When their lips were millimeters away, they parted. But Dean got one whiff of Cas’s breath and drew back. “God, it smells.” Cas looked abashed. “Sorry,” Dean added.

“You do know your breath smells terrible as well.”

“Oh.”

“We did just eat some strong food. Do you have any mints?”

“I think so.” Dean dug around in his glove compartment until he discovered some Altoids. He tossed one into his mouth then passed the tin to Cas. After taking a mint, Cas put the container back into the glove compartment, and Dean leaned in again. “Now. Where were we?”

Cas placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders and pressed in until his lips were on top of Dean’s. Dean deepened the kiss, and a moan bubbled up from his throat. With a whimper, Cas suddenly pulled back. Dean gazed at him, puzzled.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. His eyes darted around nervously. “But someone might see us, and we do live in this neighborhood.” He scratched at the underside of his left forearm.

“Oh. Right,” Dean rasped.

Cas brushed his lips against Dean’s. “But we shall resume this later, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Cas swung his door open and stepped out of the car.

Dean noted Cas’s backpack in the backseat. “Hey, Cas!” he shouted.

Cas glanced at him over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Dean nodded at the backpack. “You’re forgettin’ somethin’.”

“Oh. Thank you, Dean.”

Cas snatched up the bag, and Dean watched as he strode toward his house.


	19. Long Way Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title partially comes from ["Long Way Down"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_V_xEw4WNHk) by Robert DeLong; I listened to it on repeat as I drafted parts of this chapter.
> 
> Warnings for child abuse, self-harm, and underage drug and alcohol use. Also, this is quite a depressing chapter.
> 
> Finally, thanks for reading! The story now has over 100 kudos, which is exciting! As ever, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

“So, you never told me, how’d your date with Jess go?” Dean asked Sam on the way home from school.

Sam flushed and glanced at the passenger in the backseat. “Do we really have to talk about this in front of Cas?”

Dean’s eyes met Cas’s in the rearview mirror, and he smiled. “Why not? He’s practically family.” He watched as Cas’s face relaxed, his lips forming that tiny fond smile.

Sam slapped him on the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell, Sammy!” Dean groused.

“Stop staring at your boyfriend and pay attention to the road.”

Cas reddened, and Dean’s gaze migrated to the windshield. “Shuddup.” Once Dean had regained his composure, he resumed his line of questioning. “So, Sammy. How was it?”

“Oh, my God!”

Dean smirked. “I guess that means it was awesome?”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

Dean cupped a hand around his ear. “What? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Yeah.” Dean could still barely hear the kid.

“Gotta speak up, Sammy!”

“Leave your brother alone, Dean,” Cas chided, rubbing a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Fine.”

When they arrived home, Dean grabbed a bunch of snacks then led Cas to his room while Sam scampered off to his. “I think he really likes this girl,” Dean commented.

Cas perched on the end of the bed and cracked open a Coke. “He also really liked Ruby, didn’t he?”

Dean grimaced at the mention of that bitch’s name. “Yeah, but this one’s different. She’s a mathlete, one of Kevin’s friends. I think she’ll be good for him.” He sank onto the bed beside Cas as he thought about the matter. “Still haven’t met her yet, though.”

Cas unzipped his backpack and pulled out a notebook. “Forget about your brother’s love life for the moment. We need to study for English.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t think you need my help anymore, Cas. You did better on the last test than me.” And seriously, what the hell was that? English was _Dean’s_ thing, so why would Cas get a 95 while Dean got an 88?

“I did enjoy _The Color Purple_ very much,” Cas confessed.

“Yeah. I could tell.” Dean had read Cas’s essay once they’d gotten their tests back. He had discussed the novel’s take on gender roles, and the essay had been peppered with Mr. Shurley’s exclamations regarding his perceptiveness.

“Have you started reading the next book?” Cas asked.

“ _Beloved_?” Cas nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

“Let’s catch up on our reading, then,” Cas reached into his backpack, but Dean caught his wrist before he could grasp the book.

“Let’s not,” Dean breathed, his lips inches from Cas’s.

Cas’s eyes widened. “No?” Damn, they were so fuckin’ blue.

He pressed his lips to Cas’s before trailing them along his jawline.

“We—have—homework—D-D-Dean,” Cas protested weakly.

“Screw homework.” Dean flipped Cas around, pushed him onto his back, and planted his knees on either side. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s lips migrated to Cas’s neck, moving down toward the clavicle, where he took the opportunity to lick Cas’s skin. God, he tasted so damn good.

“Mmmm. This _is_ quite enjoyable.”

Dean chuckled, lacing his fingers with Cas’s. With his other hand, he twirled the strands of hair resting on the nape of Cas’s neck. “This beats homework, huh?”

“Definitely.”

Dean gazed up at Cas as his fingers slid to Cas’s wrist, over his forearm, inadvertently pushing the sleeve up. Cas winced, and Dean jerked his hand away.

That’s when his eyes alit on it.

This huge fuckin’ _welt_ , like a burn or somethin’—

“What the hell is this?!” Dean demanded.

Cas hurriedly rolled his sleeve back down and crawled away from Dean. “It’s nothing,” he muttered as he sat up.

“Bullshit.”

“Dean—”

“What the _fuck_ —” Dean’s body shook with outrage. “—did your dad do to you?” Even Dad wouldn’t pull this shit.

“Nothing.”

_Oh, my God. Seriously?!_ Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Cas, you don’t hafta lie to me about this.—”

“I’m not,” Cas interjected.

“What do you mean you’re not?”

“I’m not lying.” Dean gave Cas a disbelieving look. “He didn’t have anything to do with it, Dean. Not with this.”

Dean gestured at Cas’s arm. “Then where the hell did that come from?”

The room was eerily quiet until Cas pronounced, “None of your business.” His soft tone freaked Dean out more than anything else could have.

“’Course it’s my damn business,” Dean growled.

“We are not going to discuss this.”

“Like hell we’re not!”

Cas flung one foot over the side of the bed. “No.”

“Cas—”

“ _No._ ”

The longer the argument went on, the more frightened Dean became. He enclosed a hand around Cas’s wrist. “Cas—” he wheezed.

Cas snatched his hand away. “I’m leaving.”

“Cas, baby, talk to me—”

Cas stood up and coldly reiterated, “It is none of your business.” He deliberately stepped toward the door.

“Cas, please—”

“Leave me alone.” Cas opened the door, stalked out of the room, and shut the door behind him, leaving a distinct hole in the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel hoped Dean wouldn’t run after him. He didn’t think he was strong enough to withstand more of his begging. The confrontation had already drained him.

Once Castiel was outside the Winchester house, his composure finally crumbled. He wiped the tears from underneath his eyes, willing them to stop before he got home. Father would not be pleased if a blubbering mess walked through the front door.

Once he was home, he paused a minute to gather himself before going inside. When he entered, of course the first thing he saw was Father’s enraged countenance.

“Castiel!” Father shouted. “You didn’t put away the laundry last night!”

Oh. Yes. How could he have forgotten? When he’d gotten home last night, he’d been focused on the earlier double date.

He’d been _happy_.

How foolish of him.

Now he wasn’t sure if he could ever face Dean again. The more time he spent with Dean, the easier it might be for him to guess the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offered, a rogue tear leaking from his eye.

Father scowled at him. “Are you _crying_?! Don’t be such a baby!”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeated, not knowing what else to do.

Father slapped him. “You’re pathetic. Get yourself together.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel whispered shakily. He headed toward his room, but Father called out a reminder to take care of the laundry. Castiel grit his teeth and directed his steps toward the utility room.

_I want to_ kill _him._

Castiel’s hands trembled at the thought. It scared him.

He attempted to shut his mind off, concentrating on each individual article of clothing as he folded it.

After he’d put the clothes in their proper place, he retreated to his room and collapsed on his bed, kicking his shoes off and curling up on his side.

What was he going to do tomorrow? He had to keep away from Dean. Dean wouldn’t understand. Heck, Castiel didn’t fully understand it himself.

It wasn’t a big deal really. He’d only done it once—maybe twice if he counted the incident with his finger.

He’d acted on impulse. He wouldn’t do it again.

Would he?

No. Definitely not.

But Dean would make a fuss. He couldn’t handle it. He didn’t want to talk about it with Dean. Or anyone.

It would be pointless. He didn’t have a problem.

He tucked his elbows against his chest and chewed on his fingernails.

He clenched his fists. He wanted to _destroy_ something. So badly.

Why?

_Perhaps this is how Father feels. Perhaps he cannot restrain himself._

Oh, God. What if he was just like Father? What if this was how everything started?

No. _No._

He closed his eyes, but his thoughts just screamed louder.

xxxxxxxxxx

Maybe Dean should’ve run after Cas last night. That had been his first instinct, but then he’d thought maybe Cas needed a little time before they finished their talk.

He couldn’t find Cas before school, and Sam gave him a puzzled look before rushing off to join Jess and her friends.

There was always lunch at least.

But at lunch, Cas headed toward that stupid table he’d sat at back when they’d had their heads up their asses about their mutual crushes. Everyone in the group glanced at each other in confusion. He, Charlie, and Anna stood up and approached Cas.

“Cas. What’re you doin’?” Dean asked.

Cas glared at him. “Go away.”

“What?”

“I said go away.” He narrowed his eyes. “All of you.”

“What the hell, Cas?”

“Leave me alone.”

“C’mon, Dean,” Charlie urged, dragging him away. He shrugged off her hand.

“Charlie—”

“I think he needs some space.”

He glanced back at Cas, who was now arguing with Anna. She gave up a moment later.

“I don’t know what’s up with him. Sorry,” Anna said as she joined Dean and Charlie.

Maybe Charlie was right. Maybe Cas did need space.

Besides, he’d see him in English.

“Did you and Cas get in a fight or somethin’?” Jo asked after they returned to the group. Everyone turned curious eyes to him. What could he say? It’s not like he could mention the burn on Cas’s arm.

Dean shrugged.

“You _don’t know_ if you got in a fight?” Jo scoffed.

“I guess we had a little disagreement.” That was sorta the truth, right?

“Obviously, it was more than ‘a little disagreement’ to him,” Anna pointed out.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed.

“Poor Cas,” Garth muttered.

“What?” Andy replied.                        

“He doesn’t look so good.”

“He’s right,” Hannah concurred.

Shit. Yeah, Cas looked a little paler than usual, and now that he thought about it, Dean recalled that his eyes had been almost bloodshot. He wanted nothing more than to scoop Cas into his arms and comfort him, but the whole school would see. Besides, Cas would probably just shove him away.

It took a hellishly long time for sixth hour to arrive. When he got to English, he slouched in his seat and waited another eternity until, shortly before the late bell, Cas plopped into the seat next to his.

“Psst, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“Shut up,” Cas whispered back. “Mr. Shurley is talking.”

Dean scowled. Cas couldn’t give him the fuckin’ silent treatment forever.

But as the week progressed, Cas became even more distant. He continued to ignore Dean’s attempts at conversation. Eventually, Dean couldn’t even spot him in the cafeteria during lunch.

He was worried. Cas’s skin grew paler, and dark circles appeared underneath his eyes, which seemed to have lost their glow. He’d bitten his nails raw, Dean noticed one day.

Their argument never ceased to nag at him. Why would Cas lie about the burn? When Dean had asked, he’d always admitted when his asshole dad had done something. So Mr. Novak really must not be responsible this time.

But then where did it come from? Why didn’t Cas tell Dean what’d happened?

What was he trying to hide?

After almost two weeks, Charlie confronted him about the situation when they were at her house reciting lines for _1776_.

“So. What happened with Cas?”

Fuck. He couldn’t tell her the truth. “Nothin.’”

“Bullshit.” She held up a hand to prevent Dean from talking. “And don’t you _dare_ say you had a little disagreement or some other crap. What happened?”

“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed. He suddenly got it. The reason Cas wouldn’t talk to him about the burn. “Cas did it.”

Dean’s heart shattered a little at the thought. He didn’t want to believe it, but what other explanation could there be?

Charlie gave him a blank look. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Fuck. Cas did it to himself.”

A sliver of fear entered Charlie’s eyes. “What did Cas do?” Dean just stared at her open-mouthed. She waited for an answer, but when none was forthcoming, she repeated, “What. Did. Cas. Do. Dean.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He couldn’t let Charlie in on this revelation. Cas would kill him.

Charlie swatted him on the arm. “Like hell it is.”

“He hurt himself.” Fuck. Now the cat was outta the bag. But maybe Charlie could help him figure out what to do.

Charlie gaped at him. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just . . . he had this burn on his arm, and he wouldn’t tell me where it came from . . . because it’s him, I think.”

Charlie clapped her hands together. “Well, we hafta do something about this. Before it gets worse, y’know?” Dean nodded. “Maybe we should tell Mr. Novak.”

“ _No_.”

“He’s Cas’s dad, Dean. I know he’s a hardass, but—”

“I said _no_ , Charlie.”

“Why not? It’s his son, he’ll want to help—”

“ _No_. And that’s final.”

Charlie squinted at him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” Shit. Confiding in Charlie had been a big mistake. He would _not_ squeal about Mr. Novak. He’d promised Cas.

Charlie sighed. “Fine. I won’t make you tell me, but I think I might have a general idea . . . ” Dean sighed in relief. “We could have an intervention. You and me.”

“Yeah, and how’re we gonna do that?”

“We ambush him when he’s alone. Maybe during lunch or something.”

Dean snorted. “We gotta find out where he goes first.”

“The bathroom.” Dean gaped at her, and she tilted her head. “What, you didn’t know?”

“No . . . how come you do?”

She shrugged. “Andy told me.” She gave Dean a curious look. “You know that’s where he goes when he leaves us during lunch, right? To conduct ‘business.’” She meant selling drugs, of course.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Duh.” He grew thoughtful. “But why’d he tell you and not me?”

She gave him a coy look. “Oh, I have my tricks,” she answered, steepling her fingers.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel pushed Dean and his friends away. It was the only way he knew how to avoid the looming conversation.

Perhaps he should have lied, let Dean believe Father had burned him. But he didn’t want Dean to think Father was responsible, because he wasn’t.

During lunch the day after Dean’s discovery, Castiel snagged a small table where he could sit alone. He almost panicked when Dean, Charlie, and Anna came over. It had been silly to think they wouldn’t, hadn’t it?

He told them to leave him alone, and surprisingly, Charlie pulled Dean away. However, Anna refused to budge.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Anna asked, eyes wide with concern. She shouldn’t be wasting her time worrying about him.

“Nothing.”

“Please, Cas. You can tell me.”

“Fuck off,” Cas seethed. Anna paled at the uncharacteristic display of venom and scurried away.

But over the next few days, someone from the group kept approaching him. It was already hard enough to tune them out during class, so he took to spending lunch in the bathroom.

He had the place to himself on the first day, but on the second day, he wasn’t so lucky. The stall doors had lost their locks long ago, so Castiel held his door closed when he heard footsteps then voices.

That sounded like . . . Andy?

Someone mentioned coke. He didn’t think they were talking about soda.

Just as one of the individuals retreated, the door slipped out of Castiel’s hand.

Andy squinted at him. “Cas?” He studied Castiel then laughed. “Hot damn, we’ve been wonderin’ where you were.”

Castiel leaned back against the doorjamb. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“What’s up with you?”

“God, not you, too,” Castiel huffed.

Andy clapped him on the shoulder. “Fine. I get it. Sure, if you promise me somethin’.”

“What?”

“Don’t rat on me.”

Castiel wrinkled his brow and thought about Andy’s words. “I have no idea what that means.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “Just . . . don’t tell on me, okay? If I get busted one more time, I’ll be in deep shit.”

Castiel relaxed. “Oh. Yes, I promise.”

“Cool.”

He stopped studying. He attended a fencing tournament and finished near the bottom. Father punished him by taking away his next weekend with Gabriel.

He was so tense; he felt twitchy. He avoided everyone and everything as best he could, but it didn’t help. He was going to explode if he didn’t do something.

“Andy,” Castiel began one day after his latest customer had left the bathroom. “Do you have anything that can help me relax?” He didn’t care if Andy gave him something harmful. It didn’t matter.

Andy’s eyes grew huge. “What did you say?”

“Do you have a product that will help me relax?”

“Um . . . are you sure?” Castiel nodded. “Y’know, you don’t look so well. Maybe you’re not in your right mind.”

Castiel grabbed him by the lapels of his black windbreaker and shoved him against the wall. “Do not patronize me. Do you have something or not?”

“Okay, okay!” Castiel released him, and he shied away. “Weed’d do the trick. But you didn’t like it at the Halloween party.”

“I don’t care. I would like to purchase some.”

After the transaction, Castiel had questions, but he hesitated. Andy would probably merely laugh off his ignorance. But just as Andy was about to step out of the bathroom, Castiel called, “Can you show me what to do?”

And yes, Andy did laugh, but then he said, “Hell, why not? After school. Meet me in the woods out back.”

Castiel skipped fencing to meet Andy. He thoroughly demonstrated how to use the drug; then they smoked a joint together. It was rather peaceful, the first still moment Castiel had experienced in over a week.

The next day, he procured a bottle of whiskey from Andy and hid it underneath his bed.

He took a swig in the morning before school. He finished it at the next fencing tournament, where he placed dead last.

Father administered ten lashes.

Castiel bought another bottle of whiskey and some more marijuana.

He did poorly on his tests.

It was fine. He was coping. Enduring.

Mr. Turner handed back his latest biology test. Forty-seven, and a note to see him after class.

When the bell rang, Castiel approached Mr. Turner and waved the exam at him. “You wanted to see me?” Did he slur his words?

“Castiel. I’m worried about you.”

Giddy, Castiel grinned. “You shouldn’t be.”

“This score—” he pointed at the test “—is not typical for you. What’s going on?” Castiel shrugged and grinned wider. Mr. Turner narrowed his eyes and sniffed. “Are you—high?”

Castiel placed a finger to his chin, pretending to ponder the matter. “Um—maybe?” He burst into giggles.

“Oh, Castiel.” Why did Mr. Turner look so sad? “And you’ve been drinking as well, I take it?”

“Just a nip to take the edge off,” Castiel responded gleefully.

“I hate to do this to you of all people.” Castiel cocked his head to the side, and Mr. Turner sighed. “But I’m afraid I can’t make exceptions for anyone.” Mr. Turner retrieved a form from his desk and filled it out before handing it to Castiel. “Take this to the principal.”

Castiel glanced at the slip of paper. “ISS?”

“For the rest of the day.”

“My father will know.” Even in the event that Father had worked somewhere else, he would still be required to sign the form.

“Yes . . . Castiel.” He placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Talk to your dad. I know he can be . . . intimidating, but you need help.”

Father _helping_? Castiel chortled.

Castiel liked In-School Suspension. He didn’t see anyone he knew. Maybe he could do something to be sent there again.

Father gave him seventeen lashes this time. He laughed with each one, and Father spat that he was possessed.

After dinner, he reminded Castiel that he was going to a conference for a few days. Michael would be here to watch over him.

“I can stay home alone,” Castiel argued. “I am not a child.”

Father chuckled. “Right. Because your foray into drugs and alcohol has been _so_ responsible.”

He couldn’t sleep that night. He tried alcohol, but it didn’t help.

Oh, God, what had he _done_ with his life?!

Things had been going so well only a couple of weeks ago. He had been acing every test, doing well in tournaments. And he’d had Dean.

He missed Dean.

And why was Dean gone?

It was his fault. He’d pushed Dean away.

He’d pushed everyone away.

And now he was truly alone.

He had no one to blame but himself.

He wept into his pillow.

What a child. Father was right.

He should be punished for his stupidity.

He dug a steak knife out of the silverware drawer and sliced down the left side of his torso from sternum to hip. It was harder than he thought it would be.

He was bleeding on the sheets. Father would be furious about the mess.

Castiel giggled.

Finally, he fell asleep, eyes crusted with tears.

Michael picked him up from school the next day. For some reason, he kept sneaking suspicious glances at Castiel.

“How about I make your favorite for dinner?” Michael offered once they got home.

“What’s that?” He realized he didn’t know the answer.

“Chicken and dumplings. You still love that, right?”

“I suppose.”

Michael frowned but refrained from speaking. Thank God.

Castiel said he was going to do his homework and withdrew to his room. He did none of it, of course, instead electing to finish the last drops of his bottle of whiskey.

“Castiel!” Michael shouted. “Dinner’s ready!”

He guessed he should go to the kitchen. Eating was a biological necessity.

“Can you get some cups?” Michael asked when he entered the kitchen.

Castiel flung open a cabinet and grabbed two glasses from the top shelf. When he turned around, Michael was gazing at him with a shocked expression. “What?”

“Come here.”

He approached Michael and set the glasses on the table. Michael grasped the bottom of his shirt, and Castiel swatted his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“Let me see.”

Michael rolled up the shirt and gasped at the thick red line on his left side. Castiel’s heart sank. How had Michael known? His shirt must have ridden up when he was reaching for the glasses.

Stupid, careless mistake.

“What did Father _do_ to you?” Michael gasped.

Castiel shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” The cut was rather thick, the scab a large ugly thing.

“What did he do?” Michael repeated.

He didn’t want Michael to think Father was worse than he was. “He didn’t do anything. At least not this.”

Michael gave him a stern look. “Do not cover for him, Castiel.”

“I’m not.” He lowered his voice so that even he could barely hear it. “I did it.”

Michael gaped at him. “What?”

He spoke louder, as if in a challenge. “I. Did. It.”

Tears started to Michael’s eyes. “Castiel. What happened to you?”

Castiel rolled his eyes “Nothing.”

“The weed and the alcohol—I mean, teenagers experiment. I thought Father was exaggerating, but you really have gone overboard. And this—” he gestured at the wound. “—is . . . ”

“Punishment.”

Michael’s face fell. “No, Castiel. You can’t—someone needs to help you.”

Castiel smirked. “Like who?” He’d heard that before—you need help. When Mother had left and he’d stayed silent for weeks. When he’d been bullied in middle school. When Mr. Turner had talked to him yesterday.

But no one ever _actually_ helped him. They left it at that, as if pointing out the fact accomplished something.

Michael collapsed into sobs. Well, that was a helpful answer.

He left Michael in the kitchen and curled up on his bed. He chewed on one fingernail, already withered, until he reached its bed. He watched the blood seeping underneath the covering of the nail.

If only the world would go away once he closed his eyes.


	20. Pick Me Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussion of self-harm, child abuse, drug use, and a homophobic slur.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. :)

Michael picked Castiel up from school the next day. When they arrived home, Gabriel’s car was in the driveway.

Oh, God. His brothers wanted to confront him.

He was on the verge of fleeing when Michael grabbed him by the collar of his trench coat.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Michael muttered. “You’re coming inside.”

He dragged Castiel into the house, where Gabriel was sitting at the kitchen table, his face uncharacteristically serious. Michael gestured that Castiel should sit down. He glared at Michael and perched on the chair beside Gabriel.

“Baby brother, we need to talk,” Michael announced.

“I am not your ‘baby brother,’” Castiel spat.

“Sure ya are, baby bro,” Gabriel chimed in, attempting to smile but failing miserably.

Michael sat down on Castiel’s other side. “We need to discuss this . . . self-harm.”

Castiel laughed uneasily. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t keep hurting yourself, Castiel.”

Castiel smirked. “You are blowing the situation out of proportion.”

“Stop with the bullshit, will ya?” Gabriel interjected, his usually mirthful eyes now filled with determination and sorrow.

“Show Gabriel what I saw yesterday.”

Castiel huddled into himself, heart sinking. “ _No_.”

Gabriel stood up and approached Castiel.

“Lift up his shirt,” Michael told him.

Gabriel reached underneath Castiel’s coat and yanked up the shirt. He gawked at the wound on Castiel’s side, eyes tearing up. “Castiel . . . why?”

Castiel shrugged. “Why not?”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Michael declared as Gabriel sank back into his chair.

“I’ll try not to make it a regular habit,” Castiel replied sarcastically.

“Don’t use humor to deflect from the issue,” Gabriel hissed.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Why not? You do it all the time.” Gabriel wordlessly glared at him.

“Castiel, please help us to understand,” Michael interjected. He placed a hand on his youngest brother’s.

“Don’t touch me!” Castiel warned, snatching his hand away. “And I . . . I don’t know.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I just . . . I can’t live like this anymore. It’s too much.” God, had he actually just said that aloud? He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, Castiel—”

“And I tell myself—” Castiel continued. He felt as if everything was closing in on him now, overwhelming him, and despite himself, the words kept pouring out. Tears pricked at his eyes, and it all just _hurt_. “—I tell myself—” He started sobbing. “—that it’ll be over soon, that I won’t be here much longer . . . but, I, I’m not strong enough.” He hid his face in his hands, ashamed at his outburst. Now that the tears had started, they wouldn’t cease.

“I still don’t understand,” Gabriel said softly.                                                          

“I have such terrible thoughts,” Castiel confessed to his hands. “I fantasize about killing him.”

“Father.”

“Yes.”

“That is understandable,” Michael said.

Castiel glanced up from his hands, stunned. Gabriel looked surprised by Michael’s words as well.

“How can you say that?” Castiel challenged. “You’re the one who always told me to endure Father’s punishments. You said they were penance for the sin inside us all.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then doesn’t it stand to reason that I deserve to be punished for sometimes wanting to _murder_ him?” Michael flinched at the vehemence in his words. “Yes, Michael. Sometimes I think about wringing his fucking neck.”

“Me, too,” Gabriel muttered.

He scowled at Gabriel. He didn’t understand how _vivid_ Castiel’s imagination could be. It wasn’t the same. “I think I must be evil.”

Michael placed a soothing hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and this time he didn’t shrink away from the touch. “You are the furthest thing from evil, Castiel. You are the best of us all. Despite everything you have been through, you are kind and generous and caring . . . And I was wrong about the punishment.” Castiel’s mouth fell open. “Yes, I admit it. I don’t know where I got the idea—”

“We all have our ways of coping,” Gabriel theorized. Castiel had never heard him sound so understanding of their oldest brother.

“I don’t know,” Castiel sniffled. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” Michael scooped Castiel into a hug, and he wept into his brother’s shoulder.

Gabriel joined them, throwing his arms around Castiel’s back. “I love you, baby bro,” he whispered.

“We both do,” Michael concurred.

It was remarkable, his brothers coming together like this. He had to try to control himself a little more, he decided, no matter how much effort it took. His urges have been growing stronger, but he would fight as hard as he could.

He didn’t want to hurt his brothers anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxx

“So,” Charlie informed Dean as they left drama class, “Andy’s promised he won’t be doing any business today. At least during lunch.”

“But what’ll we say when everyone wonders where we went?” Dean replied.

She elbowed him. “We were just rehearsing lines, silly. I mean, the production does begin in only a coupla days.”

“Yeah.”

They reached the boys’ bathroom nearest to the cafeteria, and Dean took a deep breath.

“Ready?” said Charlie. Dean nodded, and she pushed open the door.

Cas was in there alone, leaning against the wall, the window above him casting an eerie soft light onto his face. He was smoking a joint, his eyes closed.

“Goddammit, Andy,” Dean muttered. Not that he had anything against weed. Hell, he had been known to indulge on occasion. But not to have any compunction about corrupting Cas at this point in time, about aiding his recent bout of self-destruction—

Not that Andy would’ve known any of that. He should cut the guy a break.

He still felt an instinctive rage, though.

Charlie shoved the trash can in front of the door, and Cas’s eyes flew open. He squinted at the others in disbelief. “Dean? Charlie?”

Dean attempted to smile, but he couldn’t quite execute the motion. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas’s expression grew perturbed as he put out his joint. “Andy said he would keep my whereabouts a secret.”

“To be fair, I had to work to get it out of him,” Charlie responded. He didn’t know how she’d done it, exactly, but judging from the wicked smirk on her face, he didn’t want to.

“Cas, we need to talk,” Dean declared.

“Yeah. We’re worried. Self-harm is a serious . . . thing.” Cas’s eyes bugged, and he looked irate. Charlie took a timid step back.

“What are you talking about?” Cas gritted out.

“Dean told me about the burn on your arm.—”

Cas raised his eyebrows in disdain. “Oh? And why would you think I bear responsibility for that?”

“Cut the crap, Cas,” Dean snapped. “I figured it out. You’d’ve told me what'd happened if it’d been something else.”

Suddenly, Cas looked so tired, swaying on his feet as if standing took too much strength. He propped an elbow on the window ledge behind himself and rested his weight on it.

“Whatever you may think, Dean, you had no right to share your suspicions with Charlie.”

“I didn’t mean to—I—I didn’t know what to do—”

“Well, I for one am glad he did,” Charlie interrupted. Cas whipped around to face her, and she shrank under his intense gaze. “We’ve been so worried. All of us. We don’t want to lose you, and—”

“Does _everyone_ know?” Cas bit out.

“No. But whether they did or not, they’d want to help. I know I do.”

Cas glanced at Dean with an inscrutable expression before addressing Charlie again. “I would like to speak with Dean alone.” Charlie looked to Dean, who nodded. She moved the trash can out of the way and pulled the door open.

“And Charlie?” Cas called.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” he murmured, sounding more like his old self.

She grinned. “Of course.”

Once she’d left, Dean replaced the trash can in front of the door. He realized he had no idea what to say, and he fidgeted. He couldn’t look directly at Cas, so he stared down at the ground, his eyes growing wet. Finally, he dared to look up. “I’ve missed you, Cas,” he mumbled through his tears. “So much.” Before he knew what he was doing, he was rushing toward Cas and embracing him. He felt Cas’s body wince in pain underneath him, but Cas ignored whatever it was, running a hand through Dean’s hair and choking out, “I’ve missed you, too, Dean.”

When he pulled back, he caressed Cas’s side, and Cas’s features briefly contorted in pain. Something was definitely wrong there. Without asking for Cas’s permission, he rolled up his shirt and exposed his torso. A red gash ran along his left side. “You or him?” Dean whispered.

“Me,” Cas admitted quietly.

“Cas—” Dean began.

Cas seemed abashed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it.”

He hugged Cas again and nuzzled his neck. “Don’t apologize, babe.”

Cas pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest. “How much did you tell her?”

“Charlie?” Cas nodded. “Not all of it, I swear. Just the burn.—”

Cas’s body relaxed a little, but he remained tense. “You had no right to do that, Dean.”

“But, Cas,” Dean blurted. “You wouldn’t talk to me. I was so worried I thought I was goin’ to burst. I couldn’t stand seeing you hurting so much, and I didn’t know what to do—” He wept, unable to say anything more.

Cas threw his arms around him and rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “Shh, Dean. It’s all right.”

Dean broke into a disbelieving laugh. Cas was the one comforting him when it should be the other way around. He felt Cas’s body tense underneath his, sensed his confusion. Dean dared to reach underneath Cas’s shirt and run a hand down Cas’s back. Cas melted into the touch, his back molding itself to Dean’s hand. He released a contented sigh. “Yeah, Cas. It’s okay,” he whispered.

“Sometimes I feel like I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” Cas confessed. Dean continued to stroke Cas’s back.

He pulled back a minute later, keeping his hand on Cas’s back as he gazed into his eyes, the blue surrounded by a swath of red. Dean’s heart throbbed. “’S okay, Cas. Just stay with me, all right? Use me as your anchor if you need to.” God, that sounded so cheesy, but he meant every word. He couldn’t lose Cas. He needed him.

The realization should frighten him, but instead he found it oddly comforting.

He kissed Cas’s temple, and Cas hummed with muted pleasure. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, you’ve been there for me, man.”

He studied Dean. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

“It’s okay. I just . . . I’m glad you’re safe.”

Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s. “You are absolutely wonderful, Dean,” he proclaimed. Dean flushed.

“You ready to get outta here?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. “Cool.” They’d already missed most of fourth hour; maybe they should skip the rest of the day, too.

When Dean flung the door open, he discovered Charlie loitering nearby. “What the hell?” he grumbled.

“I just wanted to make sure everything went all right,” Charlie replied. In a more timorous tone, she continued, “Did it?”

Dean glanced at Cas. “I think so?” Cas nodded. “Yeah.”

Charlie almost knocked Cas over in her rush to hug him. “Thank God.” She let go when she realized her grip was too tight. “We love you, Cas. You know that, right? We all do.” She wiped away burgeoning tears. “We wanna help no matter what. Even if you don’t wanna share.”

Cas looked embarrassed, but he offered her a wan smile anyway and thanked her.

“So, where to now? Class?” Charlie ventured.

“Nah. I think we could use some hot chocolate. Whaddaya say, Cas?”

“Yes, I believe we could.”

They snuck around the security guard’s patrol and strolled to the café next door, where they hung out for the rest of the school day. He and Charlie even taught Cas how to play Risk, and somehow he trounced them both even though they were experts at the game. Dean attributed it to beginner’s luck.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel had been unable to resist Dean’s heartfelt pleas. Seeing him hurting so much smote something in Castiel, and he was ashamed to be the cause of his pain. He knew he wasn’t worthy of Dean’s consideration, but it seemed that Dean refused to be rebuffed.

More surprising had been Charlie, tearing up for _him_ , of all things. He hated that Dean had informed her of the burn, but he understood why he had done it.

After sixth hour, he, Dean, and Charlie had returned to the school and met with the rest of their friends. They’d seemed relieved to see Castiel. Even Anna, and he’d spoken quite rudely to her. They asked him no questions, just expressed their happiness to see him again. He was touched by their respect for his privacy.

After fencing, he and Dean walked toward the soccer field, and Dean turned a serious gaze on him.

“Cas,” he pleaded. He grasped Castiel’s hand and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles. “If you ever, y’know . . . ” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Get the urge to do somethin’ like that—” He gestured at Castiel’s forearm. “—again, please. Please just come over. Talk to me, okay?” He swiped at his eyes. “Don’t do anything rash.”

Castiel scratched at the burn. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said quietly. “It’s just something that happened—happens—” Dean frowned at that. “—in the moment. I just get so overwhelmed, and I can’t control it, and I . . . ” Tears started to his eyes, so he looked away.

Dean squeezed his hand. “Can you try? Please? Just hold on ’til you can get to me. If it’s late, knock on my window. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Dean lifted his chin up, and for a second, Castiel thought he was going to kiss him. But instead he quickly let go of Castiel’s chin then his hand. “Yeah?” Castiel nodded, unable to say no when Dean looked so earnest.

And he resolved to try.

When he got home, he threw away the marijuana and washed his sheets, which still contained traces of dried blood. Until now, he hadn’t been able to muster the strength to clean them.

Father came home a day later. After he brought his luggage inside, he told Castiel to get dressed; they were going somewhere special for dinner tonight.

Once Castiel was ready, he walked into the hallway. He froze when he heard a heated exchange taking place in the living room.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to him, Father,” Michael was saying, “but whatever it is, it has to stop.”

“What are you talking about?” Father demanded.

“You’re destroying him,” Michael spat.

“Don’t you dare take that disrespectful tone with me.”

“You’re harder on him than you ever were on Gabriel. Castiel is a good kid.”

“Not anymore.”

“He’s a _straight-A student_! Gabriel was a wild child. He is not.”

“That is no longer true.”

“Which is _your damn fault_!”

He heard what he presumed was Father striking Michael. “Don’t talk nonsense. He has made poor choices of late. He alone is to blame for them.”

Silence ensued. A few minutes later, it was interrupted by Michael. “Please, Father. Just stop it.”

Castiel didn’t want to hear anymore. He rushed to his room and closed the door, wringing his hands. Michael’s broken voice had triggered a deep well of despondency within. He wasn’t sure how to interpret it—both how Michael had sounded and his emotional response.

“Castiel!” Father called eventually.

When Castiel entered the living room, Michael was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been in the kitchen, either.

“Heat up the lasagna for dinner,” Father demanded.

“I thought we were going out. Where is Michael?”

“Michael has disgraced himself. I’ve changed my mind.” Father narrowed his eyes, grabbed Castiel’s shoulders, and shoved him against the wall. “What did you tell him?”

“What?” Castiel gasped.

“What did you say about me to Michael?”

“Nothing.”

Father slapped him. “Michael may be fooled by your lies, but I never will be, you ungrateful little brat.” He shoved Castiel to the side. “Now. Prepare dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” He scurried into the kitchen as swiftly as he could manage.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sam had finally invited Jess over for dinner. The fact that she’d come already made her ten times better than Ruby, who had never deigned to grace them with her stuck-up presence.

“Nice to meet you. _Finally_ ,” Dean told her when she walked through the door. She really was a striking girl, what with her long blonde hair and blue eyes. Not to mention she was almost as tall as Dean. It was funny to see her towering over Sammy. Kid still hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, though.

“Thank you,” Jess answered.

He clapped her on the shoulder and winked. “How’d you get this one to give you the time of day, Sammy? She’s obviously way out of your league.” Both Sam and Jess flushed, which was kind of adorable.

He and Sam led Jess into the kitchen, where Mom was setting the table and Dad was pouring five glasses of Coke. “Guess who’s here,” Dean called. Mom and Dad turned toward the trio who’d just entered the kitchen and flashed welcoming smiles at Jess.

Mom placed the last piece of silverware on the table and approached Jess. “Hello. You must be Jessica.” Jess nodded shyly. Mom held out her hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”

Jess accepted her hand. “I’m happy to meet you, too, Mrs. Winchester.”

Dad also shook her hand; then everyone settled in at the dinner table. Mom spooned out helpings of glazed carrots, green beans, and steak onto every plate.

After swallowing her first bite, Jess smiled and said, “This is delicious, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Mom made her awesome apple pie for dessert,” Dean interjected. “Better save some room.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he told Jess. “He insisted we make his favorite.”

“I don’t mind apple pie,” Jess replied.

“This one’s a keeper, Sammy,” Dean commented. He would’ve bet money that Ruby hated pie. She just sucked that much.

“So,” Dad cut in. “How’d you two meet?”

“Well,” Jess answered, “we have a couple classes together. P.E. and World History. And I know Kevin.”

“They’re both mathletes,” Sam supplied.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

“I like math,” Jess said.

“She and Kevin are the top freshmen on the team,” Sam added.

“That’s wonderful!” Mom enthused.

“We’ve got a big district competition right before Spring Break. Sam’s been helping me study.”

“I might try out next year if they’ll let me,” Sam declared.

Dad frowned. “But what about the soccer team?”

“I’ll still play soccer. I just think it’d be fun to do both.”

“I’d join the soccer or lacrosse team if I were any good,” Jess put in.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Dad concluded, grinning at Sam as if he couldn’t be any damn prouder of the kid.

Of course. ’Cause Sammy was the total package. _Dean_ was the disappointment.

Dean told himself to stow away the jealousy. He was proud of Sam, too. Really. But it hurt that Dad thought so little of him, acted like his interests were stupid. Had never gone to any of his plays over the last four years.

He’d make Dad proud someday. He just had to figure out how. But no matter what, he wasn’t gonna do anything he hated. He needed Dad to be proud of who he really was, not a fake representation of himself.

Dean pushed those melancholy thoughts away and joined in the amiable chatter around the table. By the time Jess left, it was obvious that both Mom and Dad adored her. She was cute, obviously a good kid and a nerd. Dean approved.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel could not respect Michael.

He must have apologized to Father. There was no other reason he would be having dinner with them tonight, gabbing with Father about Gabriel’s “deplorable character.” He’d called on Gabriel to come over to speak with Castiel last week, yet he didn't hesitate to join Father in insulting him.

It took all his patience to refrain from snapping at the two of them. When Father slipped away to the bathroom, he could no longer hold in his words.

“Why are you badmouthing Gabriel?” Castiel seethed.

Michael shrugged. “He leads an immoral life. Too much partying and such.”

Castiel scowled. “You’re a hypocrite.” Michael opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel ignored him. “You had Gabriel come help you talk to me last week, but you won’t even defend him to Father.”

“Father makes good points. I have to agree with him,” Michael said. Castiel pursed his lips, preparing a retort, but Michael held up a hand. “Just listen for a minute, all right? Regardless of what I think, I have no choice but to agree.”

“Of course you don’t,” Castiel replied sarcastically. He knew that Michael disapproved of most of Gabriel’s actions; his oldest brother was a conservative, straight-laced man. But surely he saw that Gabriel did have some positive qualities. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked Gabriel to come over last week.

“No, I don’t. Father won’t let me see you if I oppose him.”

“What?”

“You remember last week.” Castiel nodded. “He canceled our dinner plans. And if I don’t ever see you—” his voice cracked slightly. “—I can’t make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay.” Castiel winced at the bluntness of his words, at the open admission of his inability to cope. But there was no use lying to him. Michael and Gabriel had already witnessed his most shameful secret.

“I know,” Michael said gently.

“I could visit you,” Castiel offered, “like I visit Gabriel.”

“No. This is the only way . . . I know that you and Gabriel do not like me. Father is my only window.”

Castiel tilted his head, considering his eldest brother. “You don’t think I would wish to visit you?” Michael shrugged then stared at his empty plate.

“Michael. I don’t dislike you.” Maybe he had before, back when he’d thought Michael was Father’s unquestioning, obedient servant. But recently, he had begun to see that there was more to Michael than he’d previously suspected. He might disagree with how Michael chose to behave, but he was not a monolithic man like Father.

Castiel’s heart lurched at the surprise in Michael’s eyes. “Really?”

“Of course not.”

Michael looked as if he wanted to continue the discussion, but Castiel spotted Father strolling back toward the table. He pointed him out to Michael, who pressed his lips together.

“We’re ready to go, right?” Father said once he’d returned.

“Yes, Father. We’re ready,” Michael responded.

“Good.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Sam was over at Jess’s, which meant Dean and Cas had the house to themselves after school. Awesome. They threw their backpacks and coats in Dean’s room before venturing to the kitchen. “Whaddaya wanna eat, Cas?” Dean asked. He threw open the freezer. “We’ve got pizza rolls—”

Cas made a sour face. “What are pizza rolls?”

“Seriously? You’ve never had pizza rolls?” Cas shook his head. “Man, they’re awesome.”

“They do not sound appetizing,” Cas commented as he sat down at the table.

Dean grinned as he popped some pizza rolls into the microwave. “You’ll see.” As they were heating up, he sorted through the stack of mail he’d brought in with him. The last envelope was a thick one from KU. He tore it open and laughed with relief. “I got in.”

“What?” Cas asked.

“I’ve been accepted to KU.”

Cas’s eyes sparkled. “Congratulations.”

That was it. That was where Dean was going to college. He’d applied elsewhere, but he’d always wanted to go to KU. Even though the family had lived in Dallas for most of Dean’s life, Mom and Dad were both from Lawrence, and they’d attended KU—in fact, they’d met each other there. Dean had grown up rooting for the Jayhawks.

“What about you?” Dean inquired as he piled the pizza rolls onto a plate and put them on the table between his seat and Cas’s.

“I was also accepted by the University of Kansas.”

’Course he’d been. He _was_ freakishly smart. “You goin’ there?”

Cas donned an apologetic frown. “I don’t think so.”

Something twisted in Dean’s gut. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him and Cas come August. “Then where?”

“I haven’t decided. So far, I have been accepted by Yale, Duke, and Stanford. Harvard has rejected me.”

“You know, KU has somethin’ those other places don’t.” Cas raised an eyebrow. “Me.” He tried to make his voice light, but it sounded a little off to him.

Cas’s eyes grew soft. “Dean. No matter where I choose to go, I would still like to date you.”

Dean attempted to smile. He didn’t want to be selfish and hold Cas back by whining about not going to the same college.

“We can call. Email. Write,” Cas pointed out, patting Dean’s hand.

“Uh. Yeah. I guess.” Of course they could.

“We will.” Cas swallowed his pizza roll and pressed his lips to Dean’s. Dean prodded Cas’s lips until they parted, and Dean’s tongue darted inside. They both moaned. Cas tasted like Coke and processed cheese and pizza sauce and, underneath it all, pure essence of himself.

It was perfect.

Cas pulled back and declared, “We should probably start our homework.”

Dean glanced at the empty plate. “I guess you liked the pizza rolls?” Cas had eaten just as many as he had.

“I can understand their appeal.” Dean snorted as he stood up. He followed Cas to his bedroom and retrieved his math notebook. “I’ve got a test tomorrow. Can you help me study?”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Dean turned on some AC/DC to help him concentrate. Plus, it had the added bonus of giving him an excuse to teach Cas about the classics. He put in the cassette for _Highway to Hell_ , and as soon as the title track began, he began belting out the lyrics.

“That is not conducive to studying, Dean,” Cas complained.

“Sure it is,” Dean replied. Cas gave him an irritated look, and Dean shut up. “Okay. Where d’ya think we should start?”

For almost an hour and a half, Cas provided Dean with a crash course in his latest math unit. Dean whooped when he finally started getting everything. Cas smiled at him.

“I think I deserve a reward,” Dean declared.

Cas scooted an inch closer to him on the bed. “Do you?”

“Hell yeah.”

Cas grasped Dean’s shoulders, and he felt Cas’s breath on his lips as he spoke. “Well, then. Consider this your reward.” He guided Dean onto his back and straddled him. He pecked Dean on the lips.

“Tease,” Dean grumbled. “C’mere.” He snatched at a tuft of Cas’s hair and dragged him down, kissing him on the temple and the cheekbone before reaching his lips. Cas opened his mouth, and Dean allowed him to suck on his bottom lip. Then the kiss grew savage, teeth clacking, tongues dueling. Cas thrust down against Dean experimentally, and Dean groaned, stunned but pleased. Was Cas finally willing to take this to the next level?

“Damn, Cas,” Dean breathed. He ground his hips against Cas’s. “You sure know how to turn a guy on.”

Cas flushed and rose to his knees. “I apologize, Dean. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“No problem, man.”

Cas bit his lip nervously, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was adorable. “I did find that experience . . . pleasurable, just now. I think I probably will want more one day. But not yet.”

Dean sat up and nipped at the corner of Cas’s lips. “No worries. Like I said, I can wait.” Cas’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

Cas looked at his watch. “It is almost dinnertime. I should get home.”

“All right.”

Grinning, Dean walked Cas to the front door. When Cas placed his hand on the doorknob, Dean leaned in to give him a chaste kiss on the mouth. “See you tomorrow, babe.”

Cas returned the smile. “Good-bye, Dean.”

Dean watched Cas stroll down the driveway then whipped around to find Dad merely a foot away. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “You scared me.” Dean frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at work? I didn’t see your truck in the driveway.”

“It broke down,” Dad answered. “Bobby let me go early. He drove me home.”

“Oh.” Dean wondered when Dad had gotten home. He sure hadn’t been here when Cas and Dean had arrived.

Dad sneered at him, and Dean suddenly felt uneasy. That expression did not bode well. “Whaddaya know?” Dad snarled. “I really do have a faggot for a son.”

“What?” Dean choked out.

“I saw you with that boy. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like him.” He slithered toward Dean, and Dean backed up until he bumped into the door. “So. You like boys, huh?” An eerie glint entered his eye, something different than anything Dean had ever seen before. There was madness in it, and Dean could not escape.


	21. Violation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with major warnings. The first section contains explicit rape/noncon elements involving incest. The incident is then referred to throughout the chapter. I apologize for not tagging the fic adequately in the past.
> 
> Other forms of child abuse and homophobia appear in this chapter as well.
> 
> There is also underage alcohol use.

Dad didn’t stop until he was so close Dean could smell his breath. He leaned into Dean’s space. Goosebumps prickled his skin.

“Dad,” he murmured. “What’re you doin’?”

Dad snatched at Dean’s belt buckle and unfastened it. “You’re sick, you know that?”

Dean’s eyes darted downward, fixating on his dad’s hands as they maneuvered the belt through the loops of his jeans. He watched as his dad dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor.

Maybe he planned on using the belt to whip Dean? Weird that he wouldn’t use his own, though.

Dad reached for the button that fastened Dean's jeans. “This is what you like, isn’t it? Boys. Men. It’s just one step away from your old man, hmm?” he leered. What the hell was he getting at? Dean didn’t know, but the look on his dad’s face scared him more than anything ever had before. A wicked grin spread across his features.

A tear slid down Dean’s cheek. “What?” he whispered.

“You’re a fag. They’ll fuck anything that moves, even some things that don’t. Do you have wet dreams about me, hmm?” He caressed Dean’s jaw with an index finger. “Your mom? Your little brother, you sick fuck?” He slapped Dean so hard his teeth collided with his lip, drawing blood. Dean licked it away.

“What?” Dean protested weakly, stunned by his dad’s vehement accusations. “No. ’Course not.” Did he seriously believe what he was saying?

He yanked Dean’s pants down, and they pooled at his feet. He snaked a hand underneath Dean’s boxers and snarled, “You like that, hmm?”

Despite himself, Dean felt his dick standing to attention at the touch. What the hell? Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he really was a sick fuck. He shut his eyes and breathed, “No, Daddy. Please.” _Please, Daddy. Please please please no—please stop please don’t make me any harder please don’t show me you can do that_

 _Please, you can’t do this, there’s no way you can do this, you’re my_ dad _, and maybe I haven’t made you all that proud but you still love me don’t you don’t you don’t you—_

 _No, you can’t do this to anyone not me I’m your_ son _—_

_No please I know I’m disgusting but I don’t want to see any more of this feel any more of this please stop I don’t want to get to the end of whatever this is—_

Dad stroked his cock more aggressively, and his penis got harder. “Mmm. I think you do, you fucking fag.”

_No Daddy I really don’t why are you doing this how are you doing this why can’t you stop please stop now_

_I love you I’ll be good I’ll do anything just please stop—_

Dean couldn’t vocalize his pleas, because this couldn’t be real. Obviously. If he kept his eyes shut, then he knew it was just a dream.

More tears leaked from his eyes. He wished Cas was the one stroking him, and a part of his brain told him that it was. To shut it off, he opened his eyes and gazed at his father’s bobbing hand, observing as his boxers joined the jeans on the ground.

“No, please,” Dean whimpered. “Daddy, don’t do this.” _Please I’ve learned my lesson whatever it is just_ stop, _I can’t, I don’t want this, don’t keep doing it, don’t make me come please I can’t handle that—_

Dad struck him on the other cheek. “Stop acting like you don’t want it, you little piece of shit!”

His pumps gradually became more vigorous. Dean held out as long as he could, but eventually his body gave in. Dad milked him through his orgasm. Afterward, he sank back against the doorway, spent.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God—_

“That’s it, boy,” Dad intoned, voice silky smooth. He shoved Dean to his knees. “And now for the other half.”

_What? There’s more? Please let that be a joke. What else can there be—it’s already too much too much too much—_

Dean tried to stand up, but his dad just pushed him back down again, lodging a knee underneath his chin to prevent him from making another attempt.

This was a nightmare. Obviously.

But when Dean pinched himself, it felt all too real.

Dad had him on his knees. The perfect position for a blow job. _No no no no NO—_

“Daddy,” Dean begged, “please. Don’t do this.”

Dad arched an eyebrow. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be face-fucked? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a fag.”

_Not by you. Never by you._

Dad grabbed a swath of Dean’s hair and jerked his head so far back Dean was surprised his neck didn’t snap. He met his son’s eyes and commanded, “Watch me.”

Dad had his own dick out now, almost fully engorged. He prodded at Dean’s lips and demanded, “Open wide.” Dean firmly clamped his lips shut, but Dad forced them apart with his unoccupied hand. The pads of his index and middle fingers slid over Dean’s tongue, and he tasted skin. He wanted to throw up.

The nausea intensified when Dad shoved his cock into his mouth.

He could already feel it tickling the back of his throat. He gagged on it.

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” Dad sneered.

Dad’s thrusts were so violent he would almost swear he wanted Dean to choke on his own father’s dick. Dean’s mouth was open too wide, and it hurt.

His throat screamed with pain.

His brain had checked out, too overloaded to think.

The tip of a cock—his own fucking _dad_ ’s cock—was scratching his throat without mercy.

Too slowly, too quickly, Dad came, his spunk bursting into Dean’s mouth.

Dean tried to cough it up, but Dad covered his mouth with one hand and hissed, “Swallow it.”

So he did.

When Dad removed his hand, some of his cum leaked onto Dean’s lips.

Eventually, Dad released his grip on him, and Dean sagged to the floor. He lay there, strangely dry-eyed and unable to muster the strength to move.

“Clean yourself up, you filthy animal,” Dad growled, tossing a towel onto his stomach. Dean remained still.

Dad kicked his side, and Dean yelped. “I said, clean yourself up, you disgusting piece of shit!”

He’d thought Dad had spoken with hatred before, but he had never sounded as repulsed as he did now.

Somehow, Dean found the ability to stand up. He gathered his boxers and jeans and stumbled toward his bedroom. After wiping off his face with the towel, he tossed it underneath the bed. He found a fresh set of boxers in his dresser and put them on.

He collapsed onto his bed, burrowing underneath the covers.

He lay on his side, staring at nothing, not even seeing the wall in front of him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard a knock at his door. “Dean?” Sam called.

“Go away,” Dean shouted

“It’s time for dinner."

“I’m not hungry.”

“C’mon!”

“I . . . I don’t feel so good, Sammy,” Dean managed to gasp out. A few minutes later, someone burst into the room. “Sammy, I said—”

Someone placed a gentle hand on his forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you have a fever,” Mom concluded.

Dean wanted to roll over to face her, but he couldn’t. Dad was right. He _was_ a disgusting piece of shit. That’s how he’d provoked Dad’s attack.

He’d been stone cold sober, so drink definitely hadn’t been to blame.

He couldn’t help what he’d done because Dean was just that vile.

“But you’re shivering, dear.”

Oh. Dean hadn’t realized.

“And you’re sweating.”

So he was. He could feel it now, the cold sweat coating his skin.

“I’ll bring you some soup.”

When Mom returned with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Dean still couldn’t look at her. She placed it on the desk.

He never touched it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Until today, Castiel hadn’t considered how going to college might affect his relationship with Dean.

He’d known they probably wouldn’t attend the same school, but the reality of that fact had never set in.

However, Dean’s letter from KU had underscored how different their plans were for life after high school.

For years, Castiel had dreamed of attending a school ranked in the upper tier. Princeton, Yale, Stanford, one of those. He would have to make a fresh start, but he’d always seen that as one of the advantages. He’d never had any friends in Lawrence until this year, and he’d been looking forward to getting to know new people when he moved to college. Surely he’d have more in common with students at an elite school than he did with those here in Lawrence.

But then he’d met Dean, and suddenly, he’d found himself with friends. Friends whom he liked a lot.

And Dean . . . Dean was one of the most important people in his life now.

Yes, they could call, email, and chat online once they began college, but it wasn’t the same as being together in the flesh. Just having Dean physically present helped soothe something in him.

He dreaded losing that when he left for college.

 _Don’t worry about it now_ , he told himself. _You have months to prepare_.

He would just have to savor Dean’s presence for as long as he could.

When he arrived at school the next day, he searched for Dean but couldn’t find him. Maybe he’d secluded himself so he could study for his math test, Castiel hypothesized. He had been quite worried about it yesterday.

But when he met the group for lunch, Dean was missing.

“Where is Dean?” Castiel asked as he sat down at their table.

“When I saw Sam this morning,” Garth replied, “he told me Dean was home sick.”

Sick? He had appeared perfectly well to Castiel yesterday. Perhaps he’d skipped school so he could avoid the math test, but that seemed unlikely. After their study session yesterday, Dean had seemed fairly confident.

There were illnesses that came upon one suddenly, though. Maybe he was suffering from one of those.

That must be it, he decided.

During the weekend, he put Dean out of his mind and concentrated on the fencing tournament. He still had a chance of earning a spot in the state championships, and he planned on ensuring that he snagged it. He had much to make up for, however.

He trounced the competition, easily winning first place. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean about it on Monday.

But come Monday, Dean still wasn’t at school.

Castiel grew uneasy. If Dean had been sick for this long, he must have something serious.

He called Dean’s cell phone, but Dean never answered or called back. When he called the Winchester household, Mrs. Winchester always informed him that Dean was too sick to talk, and Mr. Winchester growled that Castiel should leave his damn family alone. Knocking on the Winchesters’ door yielded similar results.

Castiel purchased a bottle of whiskey from Andy, though not without a heavy heart. His nerves were frayed. Father had hit him during almost every interaction they’d had this week. But what weighed on him most was Dean. He couldn’t stop worrying about him.

One night, he remembered that Dean had said to knock on his window if he ever wanted to talk. He waited until he was sure Father was asleep then snuck out of the house. At the Winchesters’ abode, he crept toward the window he knew was closest to Dean’s bed. He rapped on it and waited. He peered through the half-closed blinds and noticed that Dean’s back was to the window. Dean didn’t move an inch, so he knocked again. Still nothing.

What should he do now? He _needed_ to talk to Dean. Something was most definitely wrong.

Maybe he could try Sam’s window.

Not long after he rapped on his window, Sam shoved it open and rubbed his eyes. “Cas?” he ventured, blinking. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“May I come in?” Castiel asked.

Sam stepped back to give him some room. “Sure.”

Once he was inside, he declared, “I need to speak with Dean.”

“Um. You can’t, dude,” Sam said hesitantly.

“Why not?”

“He’s not feelin’ so well.”

“What is wrong?”

“He’s sick?”

Why did Sam sound as if he was asking a question? “I still would like to talk to him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Um. He—it’s kinda scary trying to get him to talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like he isn’t all there or somethin’.” A sob escaped Sam.

“What is it, Sam?”

“I . . . I don’t know if this is true or not, but I think maybe Dad did somethin’ to him.”

Castiel’s hackles rose. “Why?”

“He shies away from everyone—” That _definitely_ didn’t sound like Dean. “—but Dad especially. Like—kinda like a dog that’s afraid of bein’ kicked.”

Castiel couldn’t stifle a sob of his own.

Footsteps entered the hallway, and they froze. Sam tiptoed to his door and peeked into the hallway. “It’s Dad. Stay quiet,” he whispered. Once the steps receded, he turned back to Castiel. “You should go. Dad’d be furious if he found you here.” Castiel didn’t want to leave, but Sam stared at him until he moved toward the window. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Dean’s okay.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t believe Sam’s words, though. Dean was already not okay. Castiel was frightened for him, and he hated feeling so powerless to help.

The whiskey dulled his emotions, made them easier to manage.

xxxxxxxxxx

For the next two days, Dean didn’t leave his bed unless he needed to shit or take a piss.

He didn’t change his clothes, either, and they began to reek. He didn’t care.

He did nothing but lay in bed with his eyes closed. Even so, he didn’t get much sleep.

He didn’t eat or drink anything even though Mom brought him food every day.

When Mom came into his room on the third day, she shook his shoulders and said, “Hey, Dean? I know you’re not feeling well, but you need to eat.”

“’m not hungry,” Dean protested. His rumbling stomach belied him.

Mom rolled him over. God, she shouldn’t have to touch someone as dirty as him. She studied him and pronounced, “Your eyes are sunken in.” She laid a hand on his forehead. “No fever, but you don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Dean managed to choke out.

“Maybe we should call the doctor.”

“No!”

Mom jumped at the vehemence in his voice. “Don’t you want to get better?”

“’Course,” Dean murmured. But he couldn’t go to any damn doctor. They’d only find out that nothing was physically wrong with him, and he didn’t want to go through whatever horror would come next.

Mom sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll give it a couple more days.” She eyed the soup on his desk. “You should try to eat something, honey.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You have to eat something eventually. Just try?”

“Okay,” Dean exhaled.

Once Mom left the room, he wolfed down the soup. He hadn’t meant to, but with one bite, he’d realized just how empty his stomach really had been.

But he threw it up a little while later.

The next day, he attempted to watch some TV, but he couldn’t focus on the screen. Mom continued to bring him oatmeal and soup; each time, he could eat only half the bowl before he felt too nauseous to continue.

When he could no longer stand his smell, he stumbled to the bathroom and took a cursory shower. Afterward, he scrubbed it clean until his arms ached.

Sam knocked on his door at least once a day, and Dean always told him to go away. But one evening, he strolled in even after Dean had told him not to.

“Dean? Are you still sick?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Maybe Mom’s right. Maybe you should go to the doctor.”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’ve been sick for over a week now.” Sam frowned. “I wonder if you have a fever.”

When Sam leaned in toward him, Dean flinched away and snarled, “Don’t touch me!” Sam looked hurt by Dean’s outburst, so he infused his voice with remorse and said, “Sorry. Just . . . maybe I’m contagious, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed.

On the night after that, Dad burst into the room, his face contorted in fury. “Stop with the bullshit, Dean-o! You’re making your mom worry sick.” Dean stared at him blankly. Dad snatched at his wrist. “’Bout damn time you joined us for dinner.”

Dean yanked Dad’s hand off of him and shoved him away. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me,” he warned, surprised that he sounded braver than he felt.

Dad took a threatening step toward him, and Dean cowered against the wall. “Don’t talk to me like that, you little bitch.” He grabbed Dean’s earlobe, pinching it so hard Dean could barely hear his dad’s words. “You’re comin’ to dinner.” He dragged Dean by the ear toward the hallway, where Sam lurked. Dad directed a baleful look at him, and he scurried toward the kitchen ahead of them. Once they were in the kitchen, Dad released him. As Mom turned around from the stove, he shoved Dean onto a seat at the table. Dean almost fell to the floor with the force of Dad’s push.

“John,” Mom admonished. “There’s no need for that.”

“The little shit is faking. He ain’t sick.”

Mom glowered at him. “Even if that were so. That is no way to treat another person, especially your son.”

“Sorry.”

Mom arched an eyebrow. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

Dad turned to Dean but didn’t meet his eyes as he mumbled, “Sorry.”

Somehow, Dean endured the dinner. When he returned to his room, he couldn’t stop shaking. He felt like he’d somehow contaminated the house by leaving his room.

That night, as he lay awake in bed, he heard someone knock on his window. It was Cas. Had to be. Dean couldn’t see him, not now. Cas was too pure for him.

In the morning, Dad slapped him awake from an uneasy doze. “It’s only a coupla days ’till Spring Break. You can’t miss any more damn school,” he hissed.

Dad wouldn’t leave the room until Dean got up. When Mom gave him a worried look, he lied and said he felt much better. On the way to school, Sam opened his lips several times, but when Dean glared at him, he reddened and looked away.

xxxxxxxxx

Castiel had taken to sitting near the school’s entrance before first hour. If Dean were to come to school, he would have to pass this spot.

One minute before school started, he sighed with disappointment. Once again, Dean wasn’t here. He hadn’t even seen Sam.

But just as Castiel stood up, a figure frantically darted past him. Sam.

And far behind, shuffling almost as if he’d forgotten how to walk—

Castiel rushed toward him. “Dean—”

Dean took a step back. He used to complain about Castiel misunderstanding the concept of personal space, but he hadn’t seemed to mind for quite a while. “Sorry, Cas,” he pronounced in a monotone. “We’ve gotta get to class.” The bell rang, emphasizing his words.

Castiel examined Dean. No, there was no way he was ready for class. His complexion was sallow, and his eyes, ringed with black, were sunken in. “Dean, you don’t look so well.”

Dean snorted. He attempted to walk past Castiel, but Castiel blocked him. “Let me by, Cas.”

“No. You’re in no condition for school.” He grasped Dean’s wrist, and he felt Dean tense up underneath his grip. He ignored it for the time being and guided Dean toward the parking lot.

“What’re you doin’, Cas?”

“We’re leaving.” He searched for the Impala. Once he spied it, he led Dean toward the car. When they reached it, he released Dean’s wrist, but Dean just stood there. He dug the keys out of Dean’s pocket and decided, “I’ll drive.” He unlocked the doors. “Get in.” Dean obeyed, and that, more than anything else, petrified Castiel. Dean _never_ allowed anyone to drive his baby.

“Hey!” a security guard called just as Castiel had swung open the driver’s side door. “Whattaya think you’re doin’?

“Leaving,” Castiel answered.

The guard stopped about a foot away, planting his hands firmly on his hips. “You’re skipping.”

Castiel snorted. “No shit.” He couldn’t find it in himself to care about his word choices at the moment.

The security guard’s eyes widened. “I’ll tell your dad if you leave.”

“Go ahead.”

The guard grabbed at his shoulder. Castiel would swear that physically confronting him was against the rules, but obviously the guard didn’t care. “I won’t let you go,” the guard declared.

Castiel pushed him away. “Oh, you won’t? Well. Watch me.” He clambered into the car and sped off before the security guard could stand up.

Dean stared at him. “Cas. You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”

“I don’t care.” Dean was more important than anything his father might do to him.

“This isn’t worth it.” _I’m not worth it_ , he meant.

“Shut up,” Castiel said. “It is.” _It’s worth everything._

He drove toward Pontiac Nature Park. No one would be visiting it in this cold weather. When he pulled into the parking lot, Dean huddled against the passenger door. Castiel remembered his sojourn to the Winchesters’ last night, Sam saying he’d thought their father had done something to Dean. That seemed to be a sound theory. “What did your father do to you?” he asked.

“Who said he did anything?” Dean snapped. “I’ve just been sick.”

Castiel canted his head to the side and considered his boyfriend. “No. It’s more than that.” He placed a hand on Dean’s, and Dean jerked away from the touch. “You can tell me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Please, Dean.”

“No. You’ll think I’m disgusting.” He clapped a hand over his mouth as if he wished he hadn’t spoken.

“I could never think that.” Dean scoffed and stared forlornly into the distance. After a minute, Castiel caressed Dean’s jaw with his fingertips. He leaned in and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth before gently pressing his lips to Dean’s. He’d meant to comfort Dean, show his support, but Dean yelped and jerked away.

“Get the fuck off me!” Dean shrieked. He cringed against the passenger door and lowered his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Castiel’s mind connected the clues. But surely he was wrong? John Winchester couldn’t have . . .

“Did your father touch you?” Castiel whispered, dreading the answer. He was probably overreaching. Surely Dean would laugh at his ridiculous suggestion?

But Dean did nothing of the sort. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, and his limbs began trembling. He licked his lips, looked as if he wanted to speak, but no words would come out.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel encouraged softly, rubbing a hand on his shoulder. Dean tensed up, but he didn’t shrug off the hand. “You can tell me.”

Dean glanced up at him, tears overflowing from his eyes. “Oh, God, Cas,” he gasped. “Sometimes I can still taste—” He abruptly slammed his mouth shut and backed away from Castiel, whose hand fell away from Dean’s shoulder. “Now you see?” he sniffed. “I’m so fuckin’ dirty.”

Castiel’s heart sank, and tears started to his own eyes. No. _No_. He clenched his fists. If he could somehow get away with it, he would _murder_ John Winchester.

He blinked away the tears. He had to stay strong for Dean. “No,” Castiel seethed. “ _You_ are not. _He_ is.”

“I don’t understand,” Dean uttered as he swiped at his cheeks. “Why would he—what did I do?”

“ _You_ did nothing,” Castiel pronounced, voice firm.

“But I did, Cas. Oh, God, I did. Otherwise—I mean, he was sober, man.”

Yes, Dean’s father usually became abusive only when he was drunk. But Castiel had little doubt that he was monstrous at heart, whether he’d had any alcohol first or no. It was just that he unleashed his nature only when alcohol was involved.

“I made him. Somehow,” Dean exhaled.

“No, Dean. It’s—” Castiel had read about sexual abuse before. He needed to explain the psychology of it to Dean. “It’s not about you, or desire, or anything like that. . . . It’s—it’s about power, Dean. He wanted to conquer you. Dominate you. Nothing else worked, and—”

“It’s ’cause he saw me with you,” Dean muttered.

Castiel froze. “What?”

“That’s what he was talkin’ about.”

“Oh.” All the more reason for John Winchester to make a power play, then. If he’d seen evidence that Dean’s sexuality did not adhere to what he considered the norm—

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel maintained. “He chose the most personal form of attack possible. Because—because he wanted to assert his control.”

Dean remained silent. Castiel hoped he was considering his words. He drew the bottle of whiskey from underneath his trench coat and held it up. “Would you like some?”

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean exclaimed. He snatched the bottle from Castiel, unrolled his window, and tossed it to the ground. Castiel heard the glass shatter.

“You just ruined a good bottle of whiskey,” Castiel sulked.

“You shouldn’t even have that shit,” Dean retorted.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Castiel wanted to urge Dean to discuss the situation with his mother, but he knew Dean would be unreceptive. Still, he believed Mrs. Winchester should be informed.

“Dean,” Castiel began once he’d gathered his courage. “I—I think you should tell your mother what happened.”

Dean’s eyes, wide and frightened, met Castiel’s. “What? No!”

“She has a right—”

“Shut up!” Dean cried, new tears starting to his eyes.

“But what if—” Should he say it? The suggestion might break Dean yet again. His mouth dry, Castiel said, “—what if your father were to do something similar to Sam?”

Dean’s face reddened with anger. “He would never—”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel squeaked.

“No, he wouldn’t!” Dean shouted. “Sam’s different. Sam’s . . . Sam’s the good kid.”

Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s bicep. “So are you.”

Dean laughed darkly. “No, I’m not. I’m the fuckup.”

“Dean—”

“No,” Dean interrupted. He took deep, wheezing breaths. “It’s true.”

Castiel scooped him into a hug. At first, Dean squirmed in his grasp, but eventually he gave in and buried his face on Castiel’s shoulder. With the hand lingering on Dean’s back, Castiel felt the vibrations of Dean’s wracking sobs.

Dean . . . he still believed he somehow deserved what’d happened. Castiel wanted to curl into himself and weep, but he couldn’t, not yet. He had to continue staying strong for Dean.

And he had to choose the difficult path now.

Betray Dean’s trust, for his own good.

Confess everything to Mrs. Winchester.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel needed to visit Mrs. Winchester when she was alone. During the first half of Spring Break, Mr. Winchester had planned a fishing trip with his sons, as he did every year. Castiel had tried to convince Dean not to go, but Dean had been looking forward to it for weeks. Besides, not going would look suspicious, Dean had told him. After what Mr. Winchester had done, he didn’t understand how Dean could countenance four days with his father as the only adult present. Dean had said he wanted to move past the incident and ensure he provoked his father no further.

But there was no moving past something like that. Mr. Winchester had been given too many chances, and he’d gone too far.

Castiel wanted to see Dean’s mother first thing Saturday morning, but he’d been stuck at a fencing tournament. Somehow, he won that one without even trying.

So he chose Sunday instead. He told his father he and Dean had a project to work on.

He was poised to knock on the Winchesters’ door when he froze. He hadn’t ever considered _how_ he would inform Mrs. Winchester of her husband’s actions. He was scared of vocalizing them.

Too late now.

He knocked.

Mrs. Winchester opened the door and proffered a wide smile. “Hi, Castiel.”

“Hello, Mrs. Winchester.”

“I’m afraid Dean isn’t here.”

Castiel attempted to smile, but he couldn’t hold the motion. “I know. I . . . I was wondering if I could talk to you, actually.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, then. Come in.” She opened the door wider and gestured at the kitchen table. “Have a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“I insist.” She had such kind eyes. Castiel wanted to hide from them.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Winchester joined him at the table. She set a cup of tea in front of him and sipped from her own. “Now. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Before I tell you, there’s something I need to explain.”

“All right.”

“Well . . . Dean and I.” Castiel flushed. “We are more than friends.”

Mrs. Winchester threw her head back and laughed, which was not the reaction he’d expected. “I was wondering when you would finally tell us!” Castiel squinted at her, puzzled. “Come on. It’s obvious, the way you look at each other.”

“You’re . . . not mad?” Castiel marveled.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“Mr. Winchester was mad.”

“What?” She gaped at him.

He tried to blink away his tears, but they just kept coming, streaming down his cheeks. How could he tell her what he knew?

“It seems,” Castiel started, “he saw Dean and I . . . I don’t know what, exactly.” His bottom lip trembled with the effort of holding in his sobs, but he couldn’t maintain it.

“Come here.” She reached for him, cradling him close, and he cried onto her shoulder. Her arms felt supportive, warm. He wondered if his mother would’ve been like this. “What is it, dear?”

He pulled back a few inches. “Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded. What if she thought he was lying?

“Why would I hate you?”

He extricated himself from her arms and leaned against the backrest of his seat. “Mr. Winchester, he—he hurt Dean.” Mrs. Winchester frowned in confusion. “He—he,” Castiel choked out, “he touched him inappropriately. And more, I think.”

Mrs. Winchester blanched. “What are you saying? . . . No, John wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel gasped.

“No. I don’t think—why would he do that?” He saw the desperation in her eyes, knew her mind was grasping at straws.

“He’s done more,” Castiel admitted. “He’s . . . haven’t you ever wondered why Dean gets into fights only when you are out of town?”

“No,” Mrs. Winchester breathed, shocked. “How could I have been so—” Her eyes darted toward him. “Please leave.”

Castiel scrambled to his feet and stumbled backward toward the front door. “I’m sorry,” he sniffled again.

She gave him a kind look, though her eyes glittered with tears. “It’s not your fault. And . . . thank you.”

_No, please don’t thank me. I should’ve told you sooner. Then maybe Mr. Winchester wouldn’t have touched Dean._

xxxxxxxxx

Dean, Sam, and Dad were chillin’ in the middle of a lake on a small boat. They’d already caught a few fish, and Dean was looking forward to preparing them for dinner later. He’d loved going on these trips with Dad since before he could remember.

But this year, things weren’t the same. He stayed as far away from Dad as he could without arousing suspicion. He could never forget that afternoon, Dad milking him for all he was worth, forcing his dick down his throat—

He gazed at the lake below, doing his best not to throw up.

He’d told Cas he’d get over it eventually, he just had to act natural—

But he didn’t think he ever could. Every time he thought he might have a handle on things, he felt as if he was reliving that afternoon all over again. He still couldn’t sleep much; he had nightmares about it.

He’d been ruined. Tainted.

Or the taint had existed within him all along, calling out for what it deserved.

No, he couldn’t live like this. If only he could end it all without hurting Sammy—

Dad’s cell phone disrupted the quiet. He dimly perceived Dad’s voice. “Mary? . . . It can’t wait a couple more days? . . . Okay, okay. Fine. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

“What is it?” Sam asked after Dad hung up.

“You mom wants us to come home. _Now_. Lord knows why she’s in such a damn hurry.”

Dad steered the boat to shore, where they stuffed all their junk into the truck before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for this chapter. I read it several times as I was revising, and it was more upsetting with each reading. So, I definitely feel the pain.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome.


	22. Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of child abuse, including sexual abuse, as well as self-harm. This chapter also contains sexual content. 
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter, as I'm rather busy at the moment, but I'll try to post it in a timely fashion.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome!

When they arrived home, they stepped into a kitchen filled with packed suitcases. Mom tossed a few more onto the pile.

“What the hell is this?” Dad groused. Sam gaped at her.

“You are no longer welcome here,” Mom stated matter-of-factly.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you, Mary?”

Mom’s eyes flitted to Sam and Dean. “Boys. Go to your rooms. Now.”

“But, Mom—” Sam whined.

“ _Go_ ,” Mom interrupted, pointing toward the hallway.

Sam shuffled out of the kitchen, and Dean followed. Sam paused just outside his room. “What’re you waitin’ for, Sammy? She said to go to your room.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to go to your room, too.” Dean scowled at him until he finally scurried into the bedroom.

Dean, of course, had no intention of going to his own bedroom. He needed to know what the hell was going on. He lingered in the hallway, ensuring he stayed out of his parents’ sight.

“How could you?” Mom seethed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Dad retorted.

Mom barked a mirthless laugh. “You think you’re so clever, huh? I’m talking about you _molesting your own damn son_.”

What the fuck? God, how did she know?

Someone must’ve told her. Who?

Only one person besides Dad and himself knew about the incident.

 _Dammit, Cas_. Dean’s hands, hanging by his sides, curled into fists. _Freakin’ traitor_.

Dad chuckled. If Dean hadn’t been well-acquainted with his father, he would’ve missed the sound’s sinister undertone. “What kinda shit has that boy been tellin’ you?”

Mom wiped at a tear beneath her eye. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You think I really would do somethin’ like that?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” She waved a hand at the packed bags. “Go. I can’t have you here right now.”

“Mary,” Dad pleaded as he approached her. He caressed her cheek. “Please, don’t do this,” he begged, voice hitching with the words.

Mom shoved him toward the suitcases. “Get off me.”

“Mary—”

“You said you’d quit drinking.”

“What? I did!”

“No. You didn’t.” She pulled an empty liquor bottle from the trash can. “I found this in one of your suitcases. Half-full.”

Dad shrugged. “So what? It’s just once in a while. To take the edge off.”

“You know what I said would happen if you took another drink.”

“You can’t be serious, Mary.”

“Of course I’m serious,” she snapped. “It’s the least of what you’ve done.”

“Huh?”

“The way you’ve been treating my sons—especially Dean—”

“ _Our_ sons.”

“ _My_ sons. Lord knows what you’ve done to Dean is unforgivable. And all those times when I’ve not been around, when I’ve been doing my damn job, and you’ve been here drinking your ass off and hurting my boys—”

“What gave you these ludicrous ideas?” Dad balked.

“I’m not an imbecile, John. I can put two and two together.”

“Your imagination’s been running away with you—”

Mom held up a hand. “ _No_. Don’t even try to pull that shit. It’s not gonna work again.” She gestured at the bags once more. “Now, take these. Go. And don’t you _dare_ come back.”

“Where’m I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care.” She glared at him. “If you _ever_ lay a hand on my boys again—well. I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Fine. I’ll go, Mary. But you know you’ll miss me, and I’ll be comin’ home soon.”

Mom scoffed. She confiscated Dad’s house key and supervised him as he carried his bags outside. When Dad’s truck had driven off, Mom directed her steps toward the hallway. Dean rushed into his room so she wouldn’t catch him. He heard her knock on then enter Sam’s room. Dean crept out of his room, paused just outside of Sam’s, and put his ear to the door. What was she going to tell him? _Please God don’t let her mention what happened with Dad that afternoon._ Sam would despise him.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Sam asked.

“I told your father to leave,” Mom answered.

“Is it . . . is it because of what he did to Dean?”

“What _did_ he do to Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, “but it’s why Dean’s been acting so strange lately, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mom replied regretfully.

“What did he do?” _God, Mom, please don’t answer that._

An awkward pause ensued. Finally, Mom said, “Something bad. I can’t . . . I don’t think I should tell you.” Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“But, Mom—”

“It’s worse than his drinking. His physical assaults.” Another silence descended. “Yes, Sam, I know about those. Now. I wish—” Mom released a lone sob. “—I wish you’d told me.”

“Dean didn’t want us to.”

“I know, dear. Dean was . . . I understand why he did it. I’m gonna go talk to him. Will you be all right for now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sam.”

Dean bolted to his room so Mom wouldn’t catch him eavesdropping when she opened Sam’s door. He flopped onto the bed and wrapped an arm around a pillow just as his mom knocked on the door. “Dean? May I come in?” she called.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied.

Mom cracked the door open, entered, then shut it before joining Dean on the bed. She placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed, “My darling boy. I’m so, so sorry for everything John did to you.” Tears started to her eyes, and Dean hated seeing her in so much pain. Their happy family had been shattered, and it was all his fault.

Dean sat up, and her hand fell onto the bedspread. “No, Mom. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened. “For what?”

“Messing everything up.” Now, his own eyes filled with tears. Not wanting Mom to see him cry, he closed his eyes, but the tears seeped out from beneath his eyelids.

Mom pulled him into an embrace, clasping her hands behind his back and rubbing it soothingly. “Dean, honey,” she said into his shoulder, “you did nothing wrong. John did.”

Dean drew back. “No. I provoked him. It’s all—all of it’s my fault. Always my fault.”

“Dean—”

“I ruined the whole damn family.” Why was he saying these things? They were fears he’d kept to himself forever, but now that Mom knew Dad’s secrets, they came spewing out.

Well, Mom should understand the truth. A good man resided somewhere inside Dad, and Mom shouldn’t hate him. And she especially shouldn’t blame herself for Dad’s behavior.

“Dean—”

“I mean, what he did usually wasn’t a big deal. He just wanted to discipline us. So what if he occasionally lost control? We all do it once in a while.”

“He did more than that, Dean. He _lied_ and _manipulated_ me. All of us. You worst of all, I think.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Mommy, please don’t cry,” Dean beseeched her.

“When I think about everything he’s done, everything I didn’t even _know_ —God, I’m such an idiot.”

“No, Mom.”

“And to think he’s even _capable_ of what he’s just done to you—”

“It’s ’cause I deserved it, Mommy,” Dean squeaked. Mom gazed at him sadly. “That’s why he did it.”

Mom squeezed his shoulder with one hand. “No,” she pronounced, voice cold. “No one deserves that. Certainly not you.”

“’Course I must’ve. I had to’ve deserved it. Otherwise, I don’t understand—” Dean’s voice cracked on the last word, and fresh tears spilled from his eyes.

Mom pulled him into another embrace. “Oh, Dean,” she said, voice muffled against his shoulder, “That’s _not true_.—”

“But it is. I made him somehow. And you were never supposed to know,” Dean lamented, “about that, or anything else. Our family being ruined, that’s on me.”

“ _No._ ” Mom’s voice grew firm, and she drew back to look Dean in the eye. “You are not responsible for any of this. _John_ is.”

“He never wanted to break the family.”

Mom scooted back a couple of inches. “Can I tell you a secret?” Dean nodded, sitting cross-legged as he listened intently. “Do you remember when I almost left your dad about ten years ago?” Dean nodded again. “Do you remember why I stayed?”

“Because he said he wouldn’t drink anymore.”

“A promise he clearly hasn’t kept.” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Mom held up a hand. “But, no. That’s actually not the reason.”

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. “What? Then why?”

“Because. I didn’t want to split up our family.” She swiped at her cheeks. “And obviously that was the wrong choice. Perhaps sometimes it’s best for a family to break up. If only I’d made a different decision then . . . so all of this is my fault, really. Don’t blame yourself, Dean.”

Dean’s heart sank. _No, Mommy. Please don’t feel bad. You’re the best mom anyone could hope for._ “Mom, don’t blame yourself. Please.”

“It’s hard not to.” She dabbed at her eyes. Dean was about to protest, but Mom continued, “But what’s done is done. We have to go on somehow, both of us.”

“I have faith in you, Mom.”

“And I have faith in you, too, Dean.” He wished he could say the same for himself. She hugged him one more time. “You are so strong, my boy. I love you, and please. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me _anything_. You hear?” Dean nodded against her neck.

xxxxxxxxxx

Mom went back to work on Monday. She had only a few days off left, and she wanted to take her sons on a vacation during the summer.

Tucked under his covers, Dean stared at the TV, not processing what was on the screen. His mind was stuck, no thoughts flowing through it at all.

Sam knocked on the door, and Dean called for him to come in. He glanced at the TV when he strolled into the room. “Really, Dean? _Blue’s Clues_?”

Dean shrugged. “’m not payin’ attention.” He held out the remote toward Sam. “Here, watch what you want.”

Sam perched on the edge of Dean’s bed and flipped channels until he stumbled upon _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. “How about this?”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean muttered disinterestedly.

Sam tugged at Dean’s blankets. “Mind if I join you?”

“If you want.”

Sam snuggled under the covers and lay next to Dean, their shoulders touching. Dean knew what he was doing. They hadn’t done this since Sam was four or five, back when Sam used to wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares and stumble into Dean’s room. He’d seem so frightened, and Dean’s heart would go out to the kid. He’d ask Dean if he would let him sleep with him for the rest of the night, and Dean could never refuse. Sometimes Sam would cuddle up close and throw his little arms around him, putting complete trust in his older brother.

Sammy was the one attempting to bring comfort now.

“I’m not gonna tell you what happened,” Dean declared.

“I know,” Sam replied. “You don’t have to. But I’m here for you no matter what.”

He wanted to tell Sam to stow the touchy-feely crap, but he couldn’t speak flippantly when Sam was being so earnest. “Thanks, Sammy.”

xxxxxxxxxx

By the next afternoon, Cas had called Dean a few times, but Dean never answered. He wasn’t mad at Cas, not exactly. He just didn’t feel like talking to him at the moment, and he did resent Cas for betraying his confidence.

About an hour before Mom was due to come home, someone rang the doorbell. Dean and Sam both rushed to the front door, Dean glancing through the peephole. _Shit_.

“It’s Dad,” Dean told Sam, who glared at the door.

“Hey, boys,” Dad called. “I know you’re in there. Or Dean is, at least. ’Cause his baby’s in the driveway.” He pronounced the last sentence as if he was mocking Dean, and Dean cringed.

“Go away,” Sam yelled back.

Dean turned to Sam and put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Let me talk,” he whispered. Sam sulked even as he allowed Dean to take the lead.

“Why don’t you let yourself in?” Dean ventured.

“Mary took my damn key.”

“Then I guess you’re not comin’ in.” He hoped Dad and Sam didn’t hear the quiver in his voice.

“C’mon, son. Your mom and I just had a little disagreement. I’m sorry, all right? Maybe sometimes I get a little carried away . . . but you’re my boys. I only want what’s best for you.”

Well. Dad did sound contrite. “Maybe we should let him in,” Dean whispered to Sam.

Sam looked indignant. “No fuckin’ way, Dean!” he hissed.

“Language, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How can you even think about lettin’ him in after whatever it is he did to you?” Dean lowered his eyes. “Dean, you are, like, seriously, one of the best people I know. It doesn’t matter what the hell Dad said to you. You’ve had enough of his bullshit. We both have.”

Dean nodded. Even though a part of him still screamed that he’d deserved Dad’s treatment, he knew Sam was right. But he must’ve done something to provoke Dad, right? He couldn’t comprehend what’d happened otherwise.

Otherwise, it would mean his dad had always been a stranger.

“Yeah, no, Dad,” Dean concluded.

“C’mon. Stop bein’ such a brat. I said I was sorry!”

“Sometimes sorry ain’t good enough.” Dean didn’t know where the words came from, or even that he’d felt that way until he’d spoken them. He’d thought he could forgive his dad for anything. That he could always make peace with his actions.

“No need to be so pissy, Dean.”

Just then, Mom pulled into the driveway and parked beside Dad’s truck. She jumped out of her car and slammed the door, fuming. Her face a study in wrath, she stalked toward Dad. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’ here?” she demanded.

“I just wanna come home. See my boys,” Dad replied, his tone much milder than it had been with Dean.

“This isn’t your home anymore, John.”

“C’mon, hon. Can’t you give a guy a second chance?”

“You _had_ your second chance. What you did to Dean is unforgivable. Not to mention that you’ve been lying to me for the past ten years.”

“I’m sorry. I can change; I promise.”

Mom snorted. “And why should I believe that? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . . well, you know the rest.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I ain’t foolin’, Mary.”

Mom shrugged off his hand. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

“Mary, please. I love you.”

Mom narrowed hard eyes at him. “Leave. Now. Before I call the police.”

Dad stared at her a minute before snapping. “Fine.” He spun on his heel and strode toward his truck.

Mom didn’t unlock the door until he was gone. Dean and Sam stepped back so she could come in.

“I’m sorry he did that,” Mom sighed as she closed the door behind her.

“’s okay,” Sammy said. “It’s not your fault.”

“If he comes back, don’t be afraid to call the cops. You hear?”

“Okay,” Dean mumbled, unsure if he could actually follow through with such a course.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, Dad’s boss came over. “John sent me over to get a few things,” Bobby explained as he entered the kitchen, where the family had been eating dinner. Apparently Dad had been staying at his house.

“Follow me,” Mom declared. She and Bobby filed out of the kitchen. Dean and Sam continued to eat silently. About ten minutes later, Mom and Bobby returned, Bobby’s hands laden with bags. “Er. This prob’ly ain’t none of my business,” Bobby said gruffly. “But y’sure this’s really what you want, Mary? You really wanna shut the door on your marriage?”

“Yes,” Mom replied in a clipped tone.

“Why? I thought you and John . . . I thought things were goin’ well.”

“He has behaved inexcusably.”

“What’d the idjit do?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“There’s nothin’ he can do to make up for it?”

“No. Never.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Good luck, Mary.”

“Thank you. Good-bye.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel had called Dean at least once a day all week, but Dean never picked up. He understood. Dean needed space, and he had told Mrs. Winchester something Dean had divulged in confidence. It still hurt, though.

He felt guilty for confessing everything to Mrs. Winchester even if there was nothing else he could’ve done. A few days after Father had scored his back with the switch for skipping school (a decision Castiel did not regret at all), he’d sliced up his left ankle to punish himself. He was ashamed of what he’d done, but at the same time, he’d felt powerless to stop himself.

He resolved to control himself better next time.

On Friday morning, Father dropped him off at Gabriel’s. While Gabriel was at work, Castiel played trivia games on his brother’s PlayStation 2 (an activity for which Gabriel often teased him), and he read _Man’s Search for Meaning_ by Viktor Frankl.

When Gabriel came home, he joined Castiel on the PlayStation and forced him to change the game. After a couple of hours, he announced that he needed to get dressed. Castiel was surprised when Gabriel returned to the living room in black slacks and a tie.

“You’re not doin’ anything with Dean?” Gabriel asked. Castiel shook his head. “Sorry, I sort of assumed. So I asked Kali out.” He paused and thought for a minute before whipping off his tie. “But I don’t have to go.” He elbowed Castiel. “Whaddaya wanna watch tonight? You haven’t seen _Dr. Strangelove_ yet, have you?”

Castiel’s heart sank. He didn’t need Gabriel to worry about him so much. He didn’t need constant protection, and he certainly didn’t want Gabriel to cancel what was obviously meant to be a special date.

“Were you planning to go somewhere fancy?”

Gabriel chortled. “That obvious, huh?”

“You _never_ dress like that,” Castiel said flatly.

Gabriel tossed his tie on the couch. “Whatever. You can start the movie without me.” He began heading toward his room. “I’ll change into somethin’ more comfortable.”

“No, Gabriel, please.” Gabriel turned around to face him. “Don’t change your plans for me. Go out with Kali and have a good time.”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t neglect Kali on my account. She’s an amazing woman, and I know you like her. A lot.” Gabriel blushed. “You should go see her. Right now, nothing would make me happier.”

Gabriel approached him. “You sure?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

Gabriel picked up his tie and patted Castiel on the back. “Well. Don’t wait up for me, kiddo.” Castiel snorted.

For dinner, Castiel ordered pizza since Gabriel had almost nothing in his refrigerator. He ate half of it while watching _The Princess Bride_ , which he’d stumbled upon on TV. He remembered Charlie singing its praises, and as he viewed the film, he understood why she liked it so much. It was amusing. And cute.

Castiel eventually fell asleep on the couch near midnight. He was awoken two hours later when Gabriel and Kali staggered inside, giggling. He pretended to still be asleep. They ignored him and dashed toward Gabriel’s room, where they commenced loudly having sex. Well, Gabriel was loud, anyway. Kali tried to be quieter, but her volume gradually rose.

Castiel covered his ears with a pillow. Did they really think he slept deeply enough not to be awoken by their raucous lovemaking?

In the morning, a knock on the door startled Castiel awake. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around. It was about ten o’clock. He wasn’t surprised Gabriel and Kali were still asleep. If he knew his brother, they’d probably stay in the bedroom and have sex for a few hours before deigning to get up.

Castiel flung the open door and blinked at the sight before him.

Dean, red roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. He glanced at Castiel and laughed. “You look so adorable in the morning,” he commented, ruffling Castiel’s hair as he entered the apartment. He held out the flowers and chocolates. “These are for you.”

Castiel accepted them and placed them on the coffee table. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I remembered how much you liked that Valentine’s candy,” Dean teased. “So, anyway. I wanted to apologize.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Dean glanced downward. “Ignorin’ you all week.”

“No need. I understand.”

“I kinda feel like an ass.”

“Don’t.” He cupped Dean’s jaw with one hand before recalling that the touch might render Dean uncomfortable. He eyed Dean, who, rather than pulling back, leaned into the touch.

Dean pressed his forehead to Castiel’s. “Cas. I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“Don’t be. You needed space.”

They tumbled onto the sofa. Castiel didn’t know which of them initiated the action, but soon their mouths met, moving as if starved for each other’s taste. Dean grasped Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him on top of himself so the lines of their torsos touched.

“Dean? Are you sure about this?” Castiel breathed.

“Yeah, Cas. ’m sure,” he exhaled before taking Castiel’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Missed you so much,” Dean whispered against his lips.

“I missed you, too, Dean.”

Dean bucked up against him, their penises touching through their jeans. Castiel felt something hot and insistent blossom inside himself. It was a novel sensation, but not unpleasant. He wanted more. He spread his legs, straddling Dean and thrusting down tentatively. Dean groaned.

“Good morning, kiddos!” Gabriel shouted next to his ear. Castiel and Dean sprang apart. “My, my, aren’t we frisky.” He wore a _Spongebob_ robe, and Castiel couldn’t help but giggle at it. Dean joined in.

“What?” Gabriel demanded.

“That robe is ridiculous,” Dean explained.

“Present from Kali. Would you like to tell her how ‘ridiculous’ it is?”

“No, thanks.” Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist. “Cas, how ’bout we go somewhere we can talk?”

Castiel and Dean stood up. When they reached the door, Gabriel yelled, “Don’t forget to practice safe sex!” Castiel reddened and rushed outside.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean had told Cas that they would talk, but neither of them said anything as Dean drove toward Pontiac Nature Park. The longer he’d gone without Cas’s company, the more Dean had missed him. And, despite what Dad had done that horrible afternoon, he was still sexually attracted to Cas. He didn’t know what to think of that.

At the park, they chose a trail and followed it into the forest. They clasped hands, Cas’s thumb absently rubbing Dean’s palm. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was odd given that they hadn’t seen each other for a week.

When they reached a clearing beside a stream, Dean suggested they rest. They sat down next to each other on a log, and Cas turned to him. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, blue eyes wide and rueful. “I had to do it.”

Dean didn’t have to ask what “it” was. “Yeah, I know,” he sighed.

Cas laced their fingers together. “Can you forgive me?”

“’Course. It’s prob’ly for the best anyhow,” Dean admitted.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey. No more of that, okay?” Cas nodded. “You wanna know what happened?”

“Yes, please. If you don’t mind sharing.”

Dean smiled fondly at Cas’s politeness. “Well. Mom kicked Dad out of the house. I think she’s gonna file for divorce.”

“Oh. How do you feel about that, Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I hate that our family’s splittin’ up. But maybe it’s the right thing, y’know?” He wrung his hands idly. “But enough of that, huh?” He cupped Cas’s chin with both hands, kneading his jaw with his thumbs. He leaned toward Cas and opined, “It’s been too long. Let’s make up for it.” He planted his lips on Cas’s, and _damn_ , his boyfriend tasted exquisite. The kiss remained soft, tongues gently exploring each other’s mouths.

He wanted to suck Cas’s cock. He wondered if Cas would let him. He wanted to taste Cas’s spunk on his tongue, wash everything out. Replace Dad’s flavor with Cas’s.

That would help.

He pushed Cas onto his back and straddled him. He unbuttoned Cas’s trench coat then his shirt, running his hands over the lean, muscled planes of Cas’s skin. Cas didn’t protest. Indeed, judging from his breathy sighs, he was rather enjoying it. Given Cas’s fears in the past, Dean was surprised, but he didn’t question serendipity. When Dean licked up the scar on Cas’s side then bit at his nipple, he emitted a whimper that went straight to Dean’s dick.

But this wasn’t about Dean and his pleasure. He wasn’t worth it.

He wanted to give Cas something special. Maybe he had a selfish reason, but he wasn’t a saint.

If Cas would let him wrap his mouth around his cock . . .

He could erase Dad from his mouth.

He fumbled with the buttons of Cas’s jeans.

Cas sat up, eyes wide. “Dean. What are you doing?”

Oh. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He didn’t want to push Cas into something that made him uncomfortable. God, how could Dean have been so self-centered? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to Cas? Surely the signs of reluctance had been present. Hell, Dean had probably interpreted that reluctance as pleasure.

Dean’s hands fell to his sides. “Um. Never mind.”

Cas encircled a hand around Dean’s wrist. “What were you thinking?” Dean avoided Cas’s gaze. Cas didn’t want to know; he shouldn’t know; he’d think Dean was sick, especially given what had happened with Dad. “Please, Dean. Be honest with me.”

“You really wanna know?” Dean hurled, suddenly defensive. “You wanna know how fuckin’ disgusting I am, really?”

Cas kissed his wrist. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Tears leaked from Dean’s eyes. ’Cause he certainly didn’t deserve Cas’s gentleness. “I will not be repulsed. I promise.”

And because Dean could never deny Cas anything, he confessed, “I was thinkin’ about . . . y’know.” He waved his free hand in Cas’s direction, and Cas squinted at him. “Suckin’ your cock,” he whispered, reddening.

Cas’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes; then they both tried to speak at once.

“Listen, you don’t hafta—” Dean began.

“Okay,” Cas said.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? What do you mean, okay?”

“You can do that if you wish.”

Wait, _what_? “Cas, this ain’t about what I want. What do you want?”

With his index finger, Cas massaged the pressure point on Dean’s wrist. “I am curious about—.” He flushed. “What it feels like.”

“Really? You’re not just sayin’ that?” Cas nodded. Dean beamed. “Well. Hot damn.”

“But nothing else, please. That’ll be it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Cas lay back down on the log. “You may commence. I trust you.” Dean snorted. He pulled down Cas's jeans, reached into his boxers, and grasped his cock. Cas moaned, the sound surprisingly sensuous. But after a minute, Cas suddenly sat up, and with the motion, Dean yanked his hand off him.

“Dean?” Cas said. “Are you sure about this? After . . . what happened, with . . . ”

Dean got Cas’s drift, and he didn’t want him to finish that sentence. “Yeah, Cas. This’s what I want.” His eyes met Cas’s, and he noticed how wide his pupils were. Interesting. “I—I think I need this, actually,” Dean admitted. He blushed. Now Cas really would believe he was disgusting. Hell, who actually _needed_ to give someone a blow job?

Instead, Cas grabbed Dean’s hands and guided them underneath his boxers to his dick. “Then do it.”

“Awesome,” Dean exhaled. When Cas was lying down once more, he drew his boxers down, and Cas squirmed. Dean saw the anxiety in his eyes. “Just try to relax, all right?” he suggested.

“Okay,” Cas breathed.

When Cas’s boxers were pooled at his ankles, Dean kissed the tip of his cock. He licked up and down the shaft tentatively, and Cas moaned. He took Cas into his mouth and slid up and down his dick by degrees until he was sheathed just far enough inside to prevent Dean from gagging. He worked his mouth up and down slowly, teasingly. Cas began to thrash, seemingly without his knowledge. Dean held him steady at the waist to keep his dick from sliding into his throat. At that moment, Cas realized he’d been thrusting into Dean’s mouth, and he tried to stop. Dean massaged his side and softly urged, “No, Cas. Keep going, babe. I got ya.”

Cas exploded soon after that. Dean swallowed the cum and licked it off his lips, savoring the taste. Salty sweet, essence of Cas. He would think about this when his mind went to Dad.

He licked stray drops off of Cas before sucking at his inner thigh. Cas groaned deliciously.

After a hickey materialized on Cas’s skin, Dean pulled up Cas’s boxers and buttoned his jeans. Then he glanced at Cas’s face. The guy looked kinda shell-shocked, and Dean felt a little guilty. That had been too much for Cas, hadn’t it?

“You okay, buddy?” he asked.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas answered.

“You sure? You look a little . . . ”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “A little what?”

Dean licked his lips nervously. “Um. Traumatized?”

Cas actually burst into a full-on laugh at that, something Dean rarely saw. He wished Cas would do it more often. It was adorable, and Cas deserved to be happy. “I am fine, I assure you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Okay then. So. What’d you think?”

“About . . . ”

Seriously? Maybe Cas found talking about this shit as awkward as Dean.

Dean gestured between Cas and himself. “What we just did.”

“Oh. That.” Cas paused, brow furrowed in thought. “It was nice.”

“Really?”

Cas chewed his lip. “Yes. I think I . . . enjoyed it?”

Dean snorted. He supposed that was as much of an endorsement as he would get outta him. He laid his head on Cas’s stomach, smiled to himself, and circled two fingers around and inside Cas’s belly button. “So. You enjoyed that, huh?”

With one ear against Cas’s torso, Dean could feel his muscles vibrate when he spoke. It was soothing.

“Quite so, I believe,” Cas affirmed. He sounded surer than he had earlier, and Dean experienced a surge of satisfaction.

He laughed affectionately, and Cas lifted his head a fraction of an inch from the log. “Would you like me to return the favor?” He buried a hand in Dean’s hair.

“You don’t have to do that, Cas.” He shouldn’t dirty himself by putting his mouth anywhere near Dean’s cock.

“I don’t mind.”

“’s okay,” Dean murmured. “This’s good.” And it was.


	23. Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mentions of sexual matter, including sexual abuse, and an incident of self-harm and alcohol use.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated.

Unable to sleep, Castiel lay awake on the couch. Not because he and Gabriel had watched _The Shining_ right before turning in for the night. (Though that had not been the wisest choice. Why hadn’t they saved _Dr. Strangelove_ for the second half of their double feature?)

No. Rather, Castiel’s mind constantly reenacted what he and Dean had done earlier. Him allowing Dean to give him a blow job.

Him _wanting_ Dean to give him a blow job.

With Dean that afternoon, he had felt something he never had before. He’d been attracted to Dean for quite some time, growing almost impossibly fond of him.

But this had been different. An insistent heat had built up inside his belly as Dean and he had kissed, climbing to frenzied heights. At first, he hadn’t known what it was, and it had scared him.

Then Dean had told him what he’d been thinking and _oh_. Castiel had felt his penis twitch. He _wanted_ Dean to put his mouth on it. That desire had penetrated to his very core.

This must be what arousal felt like, he’d realized. His attraction to Dean had taken on a new dimension, a sexual one. He wished to do— _things_ —with Dean. Filthy things. It made him blush.

He wasn’t averse to experimenting anymore. He still didn’t want full-blown sex; the thought filled him with anxiety and discomfort. But he did want other things. Only if they involved Dean, of course.

He placed a hand on his side, where Dean had held him as he’d permitted his body to surrender to unfamiliar and overwhelming sensation. Faint bruises lined the skin underneath his hand, and he wouldn’t say he was displeased by them.

Dean had gripped him; then he was spilling into Dean’s mouth, no longer in control of himself. A heady feeling.

Curiosity satisfied, Cas had lain boneless on the log. Satiated in more ways than one, and awed at how all-consuming the release had been.

He’d found himself wondering what it would be like to take Dean’s penis in his own mouth. Dean had dismissed the suggestion when Castiel had mentioned it, however.

Castiel understood. He didn’t know what’d happened between Dean and his father, not exactly, but they needed to avoid doing anything that might remind Dean of the occurrence.

Yes, the notion of introducing a few sexual elements into his relationship with Dean now held some appeal.

But only when Dean initiated, Castiel decided. He didn’t want to accidentally trigger Dean with anything he might bring up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

On the first day back from Spring Break, in drama they began rehearsing for their final play of the semester, _The Crucible_. Charlie was playing a main character, Abigail Williams, and before all the shit with his dad, Dean had been excited about her getting the part. However, he couldn’t bring himself to care much about it anymore. He himself was portraying a minor character, Ezekiel Cheever.

He tried to lose himself in the play as he’d been able to do in the past. Stepping into the role of someone else usually helped him deal with whatever was fucked up in his life, but now it didn’t work. He could hear how lackluster he sounded when he read the lines.

Shit. He didn’t think he could do this.

After class, Charlie packed up her stuff, but Dean waited so he could speak with Ms. Barnes alone. Charlie stood over him and frowned.

“You comin’?” she asked.

Dean eyed Ms. Barnes. “In a minute.”

Charlie placed a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

He shook off her hand. “Yeah. I just need to talk to Ms. Barnes about somethin’.”

“Okay.”

After everyone had left, Dean approached the drama teacher. "Um. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, Dean. What’s up?”

“Um. I was wonderin’ . . . I don’t think. I’m not sure I can do this.” He gestured at the book in his hand. “The play.”

“What do you mean?”

“Um . . . I wanna . . . Can I not be in the play?”

“You wanna quit?”

“Yeah.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Why?” Dean stared at her silently. “You do know that dropping out will affect your grade?”

“Uh huh.”

“And that’s still something you wanna do?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Dean didn’t answer her, and her tone softened. “Dean, if there’s a reason . . . you can be excused from participating. But I have to know what it is.”

“Maybe I just don’t wanna be in the damn play!” Dean snapped. He instantly regretted losing his temper, but no. He couldn’t tell her his reasons. About how every time he tried to say his lines, he got distracted by the memory of what Dad had done to him that afternoon, to how he’d fuckin’ _come_ when his own dad had jerked him off. How he was a sick bastard for it. How he could remember what Dad tasted like on his tongue. With the second one, he could at least center himself by thinking about Cas. But the other one . . .

He didn’t deserve for Cas to pleasure him like that, even if Cas would be willing.

And it wasn’t like thinking about Cas made it all magically disappear, anyway. It just helped was all.

Ms. Barnes narrowed her eyes at him. “I think you know better than to speak to an instructor like that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean mumbled. “Sorry.”

“I’ll replace you in the play. As I said, it will be factored into your grade, but if you change your mind and decide to let me know what’s up, maybe you can be excused.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Charlie was waiting for him outside the classroom. “So. What’d you talk to her about?”

“Nothin’.”

“C’mon, Dean, don’t give me that bullshit.”

Charlie kept pestering him during the whole walk toward the cafeteria, and when he sat down with his friends, he finally caved in. After all, she’d know he’d quit the play soon enough.

“What?!” Charlie spluttered.

Everyone else buzzed around them except Cas, who considered Dean quietly. He could tell Cas understood, and he smiled at him gratefully.

“But, Dean,” Jo objected, “you’re always so excited about the plays.”

“Yeah. What gives?” Benny grunted.

“And you’re always so _good_!” Anna enthused. “Seriously. You’re, like, one of the best actors at this school.”

“Anna’s right,” Hannah concurred.

“Maybe he doesn’t like the play,” Garth theorized.

“No, he loves _The Crucible_ ,” Charlie replied. “Don’t you, Dean?”

Everyone’s eyes turned to him, and he swallowed. “Um. Yeah.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Andy asked.

“Maybe you should reconsider,” Charlie suggested.

“Is it ’cause you wanted a better part?” Benny questioned.

“Oh, you totally wanted the lead, didn’t you!” Jo exclaimed.

“You’ll still be amazing even if you aren’t the lead,” Anna opined.

“That’s not true, is it? That you’re quitting because you wanted to be the lead?” Hannah interrupted. “I can’t imagine you being so petty.”

“You’d be surprised,” Charlie responded.

“So that’s really it?” Anna said.

“I don’t believe it,” Garth inserted.

Dean clutched at his head. Their insistent chatter was giving him a headache.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Cas demanded, his voice cutting through the clamor. Everyone looked at him, shocked by the intensity with which he’d spoken. “Can’t you see he doesn’t feel well?”

Benny turned to Dean. “Shit. Yeah.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder. “You all right, brotha?”

Dean pulled away from Benny. “Just peachy,” he hissed.

“You don’t hafta be so rude, Dean,” Garth chided. “He’s just tryin’ to help.”

“Mind your own damn business.”

Cas massaged Dean’s other shoulder with one hand, and Dean didn’t shy away from him. “We should leave him alone. He . . . ” Dean could tell that Cas was struggling to explain the situation without giving too much away. “He’s been going through a lot.” Charlie opened her mouth, but Cas held up his index finger. “Don’t try to ask him about it. You’ll only make it worse.”

“But—” Charlie protested, her eyes now filled with worry. Dean felt a little guilty for drawing all this attention to himself.

“I know you mean well, Charlie. All of you. But please. If you trust me . . . ” Cas’s voice wavered at the end, and Dean’s heart throbbed. Cas still wasn’t sure if the group liked him or not. Of course they did. They fuckin’ _loved_ him. But the effect of going all those years without a single friend had obviously taken its toll, and Dean wanted to soothe away the hurt and insecurity he knew still lurked within Cas.

“We do,” Hannah affirmed.

Cas’s hand stroked over Dean’s neck now. “Leave it to me.”

After a minute, everyone nodded, and Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief. He gently shoved Cas away, not because he wanted to, necessarily, but because they were in public and his affectionate behavior might raise someone’s suspicions. Then it’d be only a matter of time ’til news got back to Mr. Novak and—

Yeah, no. Cas didn’t need to go through whatever hell Mr. Novak would have in store for him.

The bell rang, and everyone sprang to their feet but Dean and Cas. When they were alone at the table, Dean rendered his thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Cas responded. “But, Dean. May I ask you to promise me something?”

“Sure, Cas. Anythin’.”

“Be honest with me about how you feel.” Dammit. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings and shit. “Please? It’s the only way I can honor what I said to them. And . . . I care about you. So much.” He flushed at the admission, and Dean didn’t know what to say.

Fuck. Dean couldn’t resist those big blue eyes.

“Okay.”

Cas glanced around and hurriedly kissed Dean’s knuckles before anyone could catch his movement. “Thank you.”

Why was Cas thanking _him_? It should be the other way around. He’d essentially just begged Dean to let Cas watch over him, and Dean had assented.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel and Michael had talked about asking Father whether Castiel could visit his eldest brother on some weekends. When Wednesday night arrived, however, Castiel was terrified of mentioning the topic. Father was in an awful mood today. He’d wanted to dine at Heavenly Delights, but the restaurant had been reserved, so they’d gone to the Red Lobster next door instead. Father always griped about the establishment charging more for its food than it was worth.

Then Gabriel and Kali, of all people, had to walk in. The sight of Gabriel would be enough to set off Father’s temper. He hoped Father wouldn’t notice him, and he observed that Gabriel was steering Kali away as if to keep her from spotting Castiel.

His attempts were unsuccessful, however.

“Castiel!” Kali called, dragging Gabriel over. “Hey. How’re you?”

“I am fine, thank you,” Castiel replied.

She eyed Father. “Who’s this? Your dad?”

Castiel cleared his throat nervously. “Yes. And this is my—our—” he nodded at Gabriel. “—brother Michael.”

“Nice to meet you!” She shook Michael’s hand but not Father’s, for he looked as if he didn’t want her to come any closer to him.

Surely Gabriel must have informed Kali of what their Father and brother were like. She shouldn’t have come over.

She gestured at Gabriel. “Mind if we join you guys?”

“Not at all,” Michael replied. Kali sat down, and Gabriel joined them reluctantly.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, Gabriel? You’ve always had poor taste in restaurants,” Father sneered.

“Hey, you’re eating here, too,” Gabriel countered.

“Only because I had no choice.”

“What, did Michael and Castiel bring you here at gunpoint?”

Father opened his mouth to retort, but Michael preempted him.

“So,” Michael pronounced loudly, turning to Kali. “What did you say your name was?”

“Kali.”

“And what is it you do, Kali?”

“I’m finishing up my Master’s in Social Work.”

“Impressive.” He pointed an elbow at Gabriel. “What’re you doin’ with this schmuck here?” He grinned at Gabriel, but his air was stiff and awkward, which somewhat obscured the congenial attitude behind his words. “She’s clearly outta your league.”

Gabriel scowled at Michael. He was clearly insulted, but he shouldn’t be. Michael had spoken with good humor. Castiel inwardly sighed. Michael and Gabriel often didn’t understand each other; that was why they didn’t get along.

Kali laughed, easing the tension somewhat. “Honestly? I don’t know.” She kissed Gabriel on the temple. “But he’s mine all the same.”

Gabriel smiled warmly at her. “We met where I work.”

“Right. Sometimes I go to Garrison Books to study. It’s nice and peaceful, even with this man hawking books. Relatively few people.—”

“Hope that doesn’t mean they’ll go outta business one of these days,” Gabriel quipped.

Kali patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think so, hon,” she commented dryly. _Hon?_ Gabriel and Kali had obviously grown close over the past few months, but Castiel never ceased being surprised that Gabriel allowed anyone to give him lovey-dovey nicknames, even if they were spoken sardonically. “They’ve got a steady clientele. Anyway, yeah. I go there to study. They’ve got this small coffee shop, which is a bonus.”

“Yeah. Every time she’d come in, I’d be like, _damn_ , that girl’s fine!” Kali giggled. “So one day I finally got the cojones to ask her out.”

“I was skeptical at first,” Kali admitted. “He’s just always so goofy, y’know?” Michael nodded. “And I wasn’t about to be some jackass’s one-night stand.” Yet for some reason, she’d given Gabriel, king of the one-night stands, a chance. Perhaps she hadn’t known about his sordid romantic past. “Then I thought, why not?” She shrugged. “I can go on one date. If he’s an asshole, I don’t ever have to see him again. Though I’d have to find a new place to study, obviously.” She smiled to herself and clasped Gabriel’s hand. “Guess it worked out.”

Both Gabriel and Kali glowed, and Castiel gazed at them, amazed. “That is a cute story,” he remarked. “Why haven’t I ever asked you that?”

“’Cause you’re a selfish prick?” Gabriel gibed.

“Gabriel!” Kali exclaimed in mock-indignation. “Castiel’s a sweet boy. Obviously, he doesn’t take after you.” Gabriel grimaced in an exaggerated fashion.

“You’ve met this woman before?” Father asked Castiel.

“Yes, Father. At Gabriel’s.”

He looked at Kali. “Which church do you go to?”

Kali blinked. “What? I don’t go to church.”

Father glared at Kali’s and Gabriel’s clasped hands atop the table then addressed Gabriel. “You exposed my son to the influence of this heathen?”

“Hey, I don’t go to church, either, Daddy-o.”

“But she probably worships idols! Castiel is at an impressionable age. We wouldn’t want him to turn into a pagan.”

“I don’t worship idols!” Kali exclaimed. “I’m just not religious.”

“And even if she did, who the fuck cares?”

“Don’t curse at me, boy.”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you my dad was a fuckin’ shithead,” he said to Kali.

“You would dare to insult your elders?”

“Damn right I would.”

Kali flicked her eyes between Gabriel and Father as if afraid an explosion would go off any minute.

“If you’re going to be rude, why are you even at my table? Why do you insist on parading your iniquity in front of us? Dating trashy pagans like her.” He nodded at Kali. “All the hijinks you’ve always pulled. The partying in high school and college, that I’m sure you still do. Premarital sex. And you’re a failure, to boot. You got a degree in what, art history? You’ll probably work in that bookstore for the rest of your sorry life.”

“Father—” Gabriel began. To Castiel’s astonishment, he actually sounded a little hurt.

Father banged a fist on the table. “I’m not finished, boy! I’ve a mind to whip you here and now.—”

This was too much. It reminded Castiel of Thanksgiving, except now he couldn’t flee to Dean’s house.

He should interrupt Father before this escalated anymore, but he was too petrified to move, let alone speak.

“Father,” Michael inserted. “Please. We are in public.”

“Oh. Yes.” Father gesticulated at Gabriel. “Don’t think that this’s over.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

Father dropped a few bills on the table, and they all left.

That night, Castiel reviewed his behavior at dinner. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed. Michael had been the one to stop Father’s diatribe, and he didn’t even like Gabriel. Castiel had sat there like a coward. He should’ve tried to help.

 _But Michael doesn’t have to come home with Father_ , he thought to himself cynically. _I’m the one who has to deal with him. Alone._

Still, that was no excuse for his cowardice.

He should be punished for it. Yes.

He sliced the ankle he hadn’t yet touched. It felt good to suffer for his transgressions. To watch the blood flow, his conflicted emotions seeping out with it.

Afterward, he felt numb. Peaceful.

Then the second wave of shame hit.

A nip of whiskey, and finally, he could sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Dean and Sam came home from school on Thursday, Mom’s car was already in the driveway. What was she doing here so early?

“Hey, Sam, Dean,” Mom greeted them when they stepped inside. She handed them each a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They bit into them, Sam looking just as baffled as Dean felt.

“Dean,” Mom began, “I got a call from your school a couple of days ago. Ms. Barnes says that you dropped out of the play?”

Damn. Why’d Ms. Barnes have to go and blab everything to Mom? “Um. Yeah,” he mumbled.

“She wanted to know if there was a reason she could excuse you.”

Dean panicked. “You didn’t tell her anything, did you--?”

“No. But.” Shit. Dean knew he wouldn’t like what was coming. “I figure that if you go to therapy—all three of us, actually—”

“I don’t need to see some damn shrink!”

“I think we all do,” Mom countered. “But, Dean. Listen. I won’t make you go if you don’t want to.”

“Thank God.”

“But if you do go, she can write you an excuse. Not disclosing everything, of course, just that you’re under her care. Then you won’t have to worry about your grade in drama.”

“Who gives a shit about grades?” Dean snapped. In the grand scheme of things, they weren’t important, and he wasn’t about to go tell his sob story to some stranger.

“Well. It’s your decision.”

“Damn right.”

“But I’m going to see someone myself. All of this, what I’ve found out about John—” She wiped away the tears leaking from her eyes. “Anyway.” She turned to Sam. “And I made an appointment for you, too, Sam, if you’d like.”

“Today?” Sam inquired.

Mom glanced at her watch. “Yes, in forty-five minutes.”

“Are they individual appointments?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, then I wanna go. I think it’s a good idea.” He gave Dean a pointed look.

“Dean?” Mom prompted.

“No.”

“Okay then. Sam and I will see you in a little bit.”

All right, so maybe grades did matter. What if KU kicked him out before he began, all because of a poor last semester?

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Mom was going, after all. It wasn’t like she was picking on him or anything.

Just as Mom and Sam reached the front door, Dean decided, “Yeah, I think I’ll come.”

Mom beamed. “Great.”

At the office, they were whisked away by their therapists. Dean’s was some chick named Layla Rourke.

“You’re Dean, right?” she asked as he perched on the chair across from her.

“Yeah.”

She held out her hand toward him. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Layla Rourke.”

He shook her hand. “Me, too, Ms. Rourke,” he croaked. She seemed nice enough so far. Respectful.

“Please, call me Layla,” she urged him as she withdrew her hand. She glanced at a file folder in her hand. “So, I hear that your parents are going through a divorce?”

“Yeah.”

She shut the folder and dropped it on the desk. “And how do you feel about that, Dean?”

He snorted, and she furrowed her brow. “Really? You’re gonna ask me the most stereotypical question imaginable?”

“Just to begin somewhere. Is there something else you’d rather talk about?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Okay. So, do you want to tell me about your parents’ divorce?”

“No.”

“ _Will_ you tell me about it?”

Some people might have felt like she sounded pushy, but Dean appreciated the way she thought. Just ’cause he didn’t want to talk about it didn’t necessarily mean he wouldn’t. Clever.

“Maybe a little,” he conceded. “But it’ll be boring. I’ll try not to sound too whiny.”

“Say whatever you wish. You won’t sound whiny, I promise.”

“Okay. Um. So.” Dean wrung his hands as he spoke. “It’s kinda my fault.”

She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Why would you say that?”

“’Cause it’s true!”

She appeared taken aback by his sudden loudness. “How so?”

“Well. Um. Someone blabbed to Mom about somethin’ that was just between me and Dad. Then she kicked him outta the house.”

“It must’ve been pretty serious if she kicked him out of the house.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you what it was, lady.”

“Okay.” When several minutes passed without Dean saying anything, she continued, “Do you think that’s the only reason your mom and dad split up?”

“Huh?”

“Was the incident bad enough in and of itself to break them up?”

“Um. Yeah?” But he remembered something Mom had said that Sunday, that she’d stayed with Dad only because she hadn’t wanted to break up the family.

Shit. What if keeping the family together had made Mom miserable? Maybe Dean had ruined the family by trying to making them stay together.

He recalled Mom’s and Dad’s mannerisms with each other. For the past few years, Dad had seemed more into her than she was into him. When Dean had been in elementary school, things had been different. They’d both been affectionate with each other. But if he thought about it, even then Dad had sometimes seemed a little . . . obsessive. He’d always wanted to know where she was. At the time, Dean hadn’t thought anything of it, but now that he was older, he knew that Dad had been attempting to control Mom. To an unhealthy degree. It was the same shit Mr. Novak pulled on Cas.

“Dean?” Layla prompted. “What are you thinking?”

He answered reflexively, before he’d processed the thoughts that continued racing through his mind. “Dad got up to lots of crap when Mom was outta town. I kept it a secret—made Sammy do it, too. I didn’t want Mom to get mad at him. It would break up our family. But if what you said is true . . . fuck, I made Mom stay in a crappy marriage by not telling her.”

“It sounds like you want to find a way to blame yourself no matter what.”

“That’s ’cause I _am_ to blame, lady!” Dammit, why’d he start rambling to this woman, anyway? He didn’t want to sit around crying about his feelings with her.

“You are not responsible for other people’s decisions.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “Our time is up, unfortunately. But think about what I’ve said, okay? We’ll resume this conversation next week.”

“Fine,” Dean huffed. How many more damn weeks did Mom want him to come here?

He met Mom and Sam in the lobby. Mom seemed brighter somehow, and Dean decided that maybe visiting the therapist wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel lay in bed wide awake, unable to sleep even though it was almost one a.m. He’d gotten back to Lawrence only around midnight since this weekend’s fencing tournament had been in Liberal, almost on the other side of the state.

He’d placed fourth. _Fourth_. It was a lot better than he’d done in a few other tournaments; his record had been seesawing all school year. But it wasn’t satisfactory.

He had to win the next tournament.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t earn a spot in the state championships. And he _had_ to. At the beginning of the year, he’d promised himself he would win the state championship. He remembered when he’d first met Dean. He’d bragged about being the state’s best in sabre, and he had to live up to his word.

He closed his eyes, and a knock startled him. He stumbled toward the window and opened it. “Dean?”

Dean attempted to smile, but the motion looked more like a grimace. “Hey, Cas.”

Underneath the moonlight, Castiel could discern that Dean’s eyes were red, and he was shaking. He extended a hand toward him. “Come in.”

“’Kay.” Dean clasped his hand, holding on as he climbed through the window.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asked.

“Sure.” Castiel was dubious, and Dean continued when Castiel didn’t respond. “Um. Not really?” In the shadows, he saw Dean run nervous hands through his hair. “I. Um.” He barked a humorless laugh. “I can’t sleep, I guess. Haven’t had much sleep lately, in fact. And I . . . Er, I just—it’s stupid, really, I had a dream with Dad in it, and I don’t wanna be alone, and ’course I’m not gonna bother Sammy and—sorry, I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“No, Dean. I understand.”

“Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t’a bothered you, either.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t asleep anyway.”

“That’s good. Um.” He chewed his lip. “So I was wonderin’. Uh. Could I sleep with you?”

Castiel’s chest filled with warmth. “Of course, Dean. But you must leave before Father wakes.”

“I’m cool with that.”

As Dean settled into his bed, Castiel set the alarm clock on his nightstand. “That should ensure we wake up early enough.”

“Awesome.”

Castiel crawled into bed, wrapped his arms around Dean, and pulled him against his chest. “Is this all right?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“It’s not too much?”

“’S perfect, Cas.”

“Good.” He rested his chin atop Dean’s head, and soon, they were both asleep.


	24. We're in This Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief discussion of self-harm, abusive/violent behavior, and underage drinking.

Dean woke up to a screeching sound. Cas’s arms were wrapped tightly around him. Confused, he shoved them out of the way so he could slam the alarm off.

 _Oh. That’s right_. He was in Cas’s bed, and he had to leave before his dick dad woke up and discovered Dean was there.

Cas’s arm remained draped over him as Dean turned to face him. “Guess that’s my cue to leave,” Dean mumbled.

“Mmm.” Cas nuzzled into his neck. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t wanna go, either. But, y’know.”

Cas clambered to his knees. “Yes.”

Dean echoed his movement. “So.”

“Dean, what if we go get breakfast somewhere?” Cas suggested.

“Your dad’d be okay with you doin’ that?” Dean replied skeptically.

“I’ll leave him a note that says we’re studying.”

“Cas, you can’t use that as an excuse forever. Your dad might stop believin’ it.”

“No. I’m very studious.” He contemplated the matter for a moment. “Usually.”

Dean gestured at his plaid pajama pants. “I don’t exactly have the right clothes on.”

“You can go home and change your clothes.”

“Uh huh,” he grunted uncertainly. He’d have to sneak back in without waking anyone up.

“Please, Dean?” Cas begged.

God, Dean couldn’t ever say no to Cas. “Okay, sure.”

Cas bounced off of the bed. “Wonderful. I shall change.”

He scrounged around in his drawers until he pulled out a pair of jeans and an old fencing team T-shirt. Dean watched appreciatively as Cas tore off his white shirt and replaced it with the T-shirt. He always marveled at how muscular the wiry guy was; it was almost as if he didn’t have an ounce of fat. He clenched his hands into fists when his eyes alit on the fading scars lining Cas’s back. Fuckin’ Mr. Novak—

When Cas took off his pants, Dean was distracted for an entirely different reason.

Both ankles bore cuts, the ones on the left more recent. Cas had to be responsible for those.

Fuck. Cas had lied to him. He’d said he’d come to Dean when he felt the urge to self-harm, yet he obviously hadn’t.

Dean tried to think of how he could bring up the topic as they traipsed to his house, then as he changed his clothes, and drove them to a diner.

But he felt clueless.

After she seated them, the middle-aged waitress asked what they would like to drink after passing them the menus.

“Orange juice, please,” Cas answered.

“Coffee,” Dean said.

“Orange juice? Really?” Dean gibed as the waitress scurried off to fix their drinks.

“What’s wrong with orange juice?”

“Lemme see. It’s _lame_.”

Cas pointed at something on the menu. “But it says the juice is freshly squeezed.”

“Whatever.” Dean had to admit that was kinda neat, though. Better than serving that Minute Maid shit.

As Cas studied the menu, Dean decided it’d be fun to mess with him. He kicked him underneath the table, and Cas’s eyes snapped over to him. “Why did you kick me?” Cas asked.

“Who? Me?” Dean feigned.

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “I am not stupid, Dean.” He looked so serious, and Dean had to work hard to suppress his laughter. “It’s not funny, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t hold in the mirth any longer. He kicked Cas underneath the table again as he chuckled.

“Stop it,” Cas demanded. To underscore his words, he kicked Dean back.

“You stop it,” Dean retorted.

“Stop what?” Cas replied, expression all too innocent.

Dean kicked him once again; then Cas kicked him; then Dean wrapped his ankle around Cas’s for good measure. Cas struggled to disentangle his leg from Dean’s, eventually bursting into giggles when the effort proved futile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth formed a tentative smile. Adorable.

Jesus, he was whipped.

When the waitress returned with their drinks, Dean quickly extricated his leg from Cas’s, and they sat up straighter. “What can I get for you boys?” she inquired, pen poised over her pad.

“Yeah, I want the tall pancake stack with bacon, eggs, hash browns, and biscuits and gravy,” Dean said.

“I would like the veggie omelet, please,” Cas answered.

“We’ll have that out soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t know I was eatin’ with Sam,” Dean teased.

“What?”

“Go wild. Get some real food for once.”

“I’m sorry if I do not wish to die of a premature heart attack.”

“Dude, we’re teenagers. Neither of us is havin’ a heart attack anytime soon.”

He made more small talk with Cas while they waited for their food. He didn’t want the waitress’s return to interrupt him when he started in on the heavy stuff.

Cas’s eyes widened at Dean’s mini-feast when it arrived at the table. “Are you going to eat all of that?” he asked.

“Damn straight,” Dean affirmed.

“You know,” Cas thought aloud. “I do not believe I have ever had biscuits and gravy.”

“You serious?” Cas nodded. Dean grabbed one of his biscuits and passed it to Cas. “Here.” He pointed at the bowl of gravy. “Just dip it in there. Don’t worry about double dippin’.”

Cas raised a puzzled eyebrow. “What is double dipping?”

“Christ, really?” He continued when Cas didn’t answer. “Well, there’s somethin’ to add to your dictionary of normal-speak. It’s when you put your food in the dip after you’ve bit off it.”

“You truly do not mind?”

“Hey,” he whispered. “We kiss all the time, right?” Cas flushed. More loudly, Dean said, “Not much different.”

“Hmm.” Cas dipped a small segment of the biscuit into the gravy and took a bite. His face lit up at the taste. “Wow. This is delicious.”

“Told ya.”

They ate silently for a few minutes. With a mouth full of pancake, Dean finally got the courage to speak. “So. Um. Cas.”

Cas glanced up from his omelet. “Yes, Dean?”

“Why’d you lie to me?” _Wow, just come right out with it, would ya?_

Cas put his fork down. “What do you mean?”

“You said . . . ” Dean swallowed his food, and his voice almost broke as he continued to speak. “You promised you’d let me know if you felt like hurting yourself.”

“Yes.”

Dean slammed a fist on the table, and Cas flinched. “You lied, dammit!”

Cas furrowed his brow. “No, I didn’t.”

“I saw your ankles this morning, you idiot.”

“Oh,” Cas exhaled, understanding dawning in his eyes. “That.”

“Yeah. That,” Dean hissed.

“I’m sorry, but I never promised that. I said I would _try_.”

“And you tried so hard, right?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.” Cas gazed down at the table, cheeks tinged pink. “Seriously, man. I can’t stand the thought of you . . .” He bit his lip to keep himself from crying. “—Of you going through shit like that alone. Let me help you.”

Cas’s eyes flicked up to Dean, and they softened. “I cannot bother you with my problems, Dean. They are so insignificant.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas pretended not to notice. “After what has happened with your father—”

“No. Don’t use that as an excuse, goddammit. I still need to be there for you.” Dean paused then added, “If you want to help me with my shit—and I know you do—then I need to help you with yours. Capisce?”

“Yes,” Cas replied after a moment of uneasy silence, “I capisce.”

xxxxxxxxxx

While Cas chopped up vegetables for a salad (the nerd had insisted on having salad with their dinner, and Mom had agreed), Dean readied the potatoes for the oven. Cheese, bacon bits, and onions would be baked right into them. Meanwhile, Mom prepared chicken and dumplings. (Dean may have asked Gabriel what Cas’s favorite dinner foods were.)

The atmosphere was peaceful. Sam and his friends were eating at Kevin’s house tonight, but there’d be plenty of leftovers. Probably. Dean actually enjoyed cooking, and so did Cas. When Dad used to be here, he’d rarely helped Mom in the kitchen. When he’d volunteered to do so, Dad had always told him to stop being a girl.

The phone rang, and all three heads swiveled toward it. Dean, who was standing nearest to the phone, picked it up, and the others returned to their tasks.

“Hello?” Dean answered.

“Dean?” a voice rasped. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Bobby!” he barked with a touch of desperation.

_Bobby? Dad’s boss?_

“Oh. So—”

“Anyone else there with ya, son?”

“Yeah, Mom and my friend Cas. Why?”

“Get ready. Lock the damn doors, grab some baseball bats or somethin’—”

“What? Why?”

“John’s on his way over, goddammit!”

A chill crept up Dean’s neck. “What?” It didn’t matter, he told himself. Mom wouldn’t let him in.

“He’s been drinkin’, and his outta control, boy! I’m on my way there now, but he was drivin’ so crazy, he’ll prob’ly—”

Bobby was interrupted by pounding on the door. He heard Dad holler menacingly, “Let me in, Mary!”

“I think he’s here,” Dean exhaled.

“Shit.—”

“Let me in, you bitch!”

Mom strode toward the front door and yelled, “Get the hell away from my house!”

“It’s my house, too!”

Dean met Cas’s wide, anxious eyes.

“Dean—” Bobby said.

“If you won’t let me in,” Dad snarled, “I’ll do it myself.”

“You try that,” Mom replied.

The door burst open with the force of Dad’s frantic efforts, and Mom screamed. Dad stalked through the doorway, reeking of alcohol. His eyes swept the kitchen until they alit on Cas. “You!” he gasped. “Fuckin’ faggot!” He raced toward Cas, grasped his shoulders, and shoved him against the wall.

Before Dean could react, Mom rushed to Dad’s side and tugged at his arm. “You leave that boy alone.”

He whipped around to face Mom and released Cas. “Fuckin’ bitch!” he hissed as he thrust Mom against the wall. Hard, as her head bounced off the wall. “Is this the thanks I get? After I gave you whatever the hell you wanted for ten fuckin’ years?! You’re mine, you bitch.” He cupped her chin with one hand, his grip tight. “And you always will be.”

“Dean?” Bobby repeated. Dean ignored him and dropped the phone on the countertop before dashing toward Mom.

“Get off her,” Dean attempted to yell, but it came out sounding more like a whine. When he approached, Dad elbowed him in the nose, and Dean stumbled backward.

Someone else barged into the house, and a gruff voice shouted, “John!”

Dad turned to him and grinned. “Hey, Bobby.” He nodded at Mom and said, “Just patchin’ things up with my wife here.”

“Get outta here, ya idjit!”

Dad tsked. “Don’t get between a man and his wife, Bobby.”

“I said get out!”

Mom reached behind herself, grabbed a pan, and hit Dad on the head. Dad staggered toward Bobby, and Bobby shoved him outside. “Go on!” he yelled at Dad. “Git.”

“You’ll be sorry!”

Bobby snorted then turned his attention toward the individuals in the kitchen. “Y’all all right?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Mom responded.

“How’d you know he was comin’ over?” Dean asked.

“It was his day off. I came home to find him drinkin’. He started ramblin’ about a buncha shit. How his wife was bein’ unfair to him, how he’d done what any decent guy woulda done if he found out his son was a fag . . . then he went on to describe it.” Bobby paled. “Said he took no joy in it, it was his fuckin’ duty—though in what world that’s anybody’s ‘duty,’ I dunno. It kinda scared me . . . it was almost like he was excited,” Bobby spat in disgust. He turned pitying eyes to Dean. “I’m sorry, son.”

Dean shrank from his gaze. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered.

Bobby nodded and looked at Mom. “I’m sorry, Mary. I had no idea.” Her eyes full of tears, Mom nodded and pasted on a wan smile. “He ain’t crashin’ at my place anymore.”

“Good,” Mom replied.

“You might wanna take a restrainin’ order out on him.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Mom wiped her eyes and surveyed the kitchen. “Bobby, do you have plans for dinner?”

“Just a date with Marie Callender. Why?”

“Why don’t you stay here, then?”

Bobby suddenly looked bashful. “I wouldn’t wanna impose—”

“Nonsense. I insist. It’s the least I can do.”

“Sure, why not?” Bobby decided after a minute. Mom beamed.

xxxxxxxxxx

As they settled on the bed, Anna passed Castiel a beer and flipped the TV to a random station.

She clinked her bottle against Castiel’s. “Cheers, Cas.”

“Cheers?” Castiel replied, confused about why she was smiling so widely.

“You’re in second. That’s something to celebrate.”

“Yes, but I need to win,” Castiel mused. This was the last regular fencing tournament of the school year, and his fate depended on his performance here and now.

“Oh, you’ll win,” Anna declared.

Castiel didn’t feel very confident about his prospects, though. He was afraid that talking about the matter might jinx him. Anna seemed to sense his uneasiness about the subject and changed it.

“So, have you heard back from any more colleges?” she asked.

Castiel sighed. “Princeton rejected me. Harvard was my other top choice, but they don’t want me, either.”

“Well, they’re missin’ out. Which colleges are you thinking most seriously about?”

Castiel sipped his beer before answering. “Yale and Stanford. Maybe the University of Michigan.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Michigan? Why Michigan?”

Castiel shrugged. “Ann Arbor is a nice town.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Yes, with Gabriel once. He was visiting a friend.” At the time, Castiel couldn’t believe that he’d convinced Father to let him go. He’d sold it as a college visit.

“Dean’s going to KU, right?” Castiel nodded. “You’re not thinking about going there?”

“No.” He paused. “There’s nothing wrong with KU, but it’s not all that . . . ” Castiel trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding like a snob.

“Selective,” Anna finished. Castiel nodded. “What about Michigan? That’s also a state school.”

“It’s actually pretty competitive. Like the University of Virginia.”

“Oh.” They lapsed into silence. After a few minutes, Castiel decided to resume the conversation.

“What about you, Anna? Where are you going to college?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I want to go to a liberal arts college. Maybe Wellesley or Vassar?”

“Those are good schools.”

“Yeah. And I got in to both.”

“So you’re not sure which one to choose?”

“Not exactly.” She stopped to gather her thoughts, and Castiel waited for her to continue. “I don’t know. I might wind up going to Rhodes or Hendrix.”

“Why?” Those were good schools, but not nearly as prestigious as Wellesley or Vassar.

Anna flushed. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“No, I won’t,” he assured her.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I want to go to school with Hannah, but, like, she didn’t get into Wellesley or Vassar. I don’t want to go to college without her.” She looked mournful. “She’s my best friend, Cas. More like a sister, really. I’ve known her since we were in diapers. And I don’t want us to split up.”

“If you chose Wellesley or Vassar, surely she would understand.”

“Of course she would. That’s what she says, but I still don’t like it.” With an index finger, she brushed a rogue tear from her eyelid. “See, I told you you’d think it was stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” He wasn’t lying. He was touched by how important friendship was to her.

“Whatever,” she sniffed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He eyed the TV. “Why don’t we watch—” He squinted at the TV. A goofy-looking man stood in front of a classroom of children. “What is this?”

“ _School of Rock_.”

“Oh.”

“Never seen it, huh?” He shook his head. “C’mon, let’s watch it.”

“What is it about?”

“He’s basically gonna form a band with those kids—” Castiel gave her a skeptical look. “—no, I know it sounds dumb, but it’s actually pretty funny.” As an afterthought, she added, “Dean would like the music they play.”

“Fine, we’ll watch it,” Castiel huffed.

Anna pulled her knees up to her chin and grinned.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel mopped the sweat off his brow and steadied his hand on the pommel of his sword. By some miracle, he’d fought his way to the final match. The state tournament was only one win away.

If he could secure that win.

The entire team stood at the sidelines, cheering him on even if they didn’t like him much. Regardless of their opinion of him, having a member from their team reach state would be exciting.

“Good luck, Cas,” Anna said shortly before he took his position on the mat in the center.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied.

“Go kick his ass.”

Castiel’s lips quirked up into a brief smile. As he strode toward the center of the room and donned his mask, he attempted to steel his nerves.

He was already at a disadvantage. His last bout had ended scarcely ten minutes ago, and his muscles still ached. His opponent’s match, on the other hand, had finished an hour ago.

When the signal was given to commence, Castiel’s sluggish brain didn’t register it at first. He moved to parry his opponent, but a shrill buzz resounded through the room before he could do so.

His competitor had scored the first touch.

 _En garde_.

Castiel lunged at the same time as the other boy, both too occupied with attacking to properly defend. The buzzer whined on both sides.

The judge ruled it a simultaneous action, and neither fencer earned a touch.

Castiel was so tired. He just wanted to shut his eyes.

But he was so close. If he could endure this match and emerge victorious . . .

His opponent scored another touch. Dammit. 2-0.

Castiel smiled to himself when the next touch went to him. He was only losing by one touch. He could do this.

But soon the score was 3-1.

The match had scarcely resumed when his rival won another touch.

Fuck. With one more touch, Castiel would be defeated. Then he could say good-bye to state.

No. He was _so close_. He could do this.

His hand shook as they assumed the starting position.

_Calm down. Focus. You can do this._

_But I’m so tired._

_I don’t know if I can._ Inevitable failure stared him in the face.

_Come on. You’ve done this before. You’ve won tournaments. You can do this._

Castiel earned three quick successive touches.

They were tied. Just one more touch. One more.

His team cheered behind him, and Anna shouted encouraging words.

A rush of adrenaline seized Castiel as he lunged. He moved in a flash of lightning, almost as if some outside force had taken control of his body.

And the last touch was his.

His opponent threw down his saber and tossed his mask aside. He glared at Castiel, his lips forming a pout as he joined his teammates behind him.

Castiel spun around to face the assembled members of Lawrence Magnet’s fencing team. They clapped and hollered congratulations, and Castiel raised his sabre in triumph. He yanked his mask off, and the muscles around his mouth tingled as he grinned more widely than he probably ever had before.

“Castiel!” Anna squealed as she enveloped him in an abrupt hug. “Oh, my God. That was amazing.”

“I almost blew it,” Castiel murmured.

“Shut up. That comeback was fuckin’ legendary.”

“If you say so.”

Anna drew back and beamed. “I do.” She pulled a phone out of her pocket and declared, “Excuse me. I have to make a call.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Anna retreated into the background, and his peers rushed toward him, each one patting him on the back. Ms. Mills approached.

“Congratulations, Castiel,” Ms. Mills said.

“Thank you,” Castiel replied.

“You started off pretty rough, but your performance toward the end was phenomenal, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbled, reddening at the praise. Surely Anna and Ms. Mills were both exaggerating.

Nevertheless, he felt almost as if he would burst from excitement. He’d won the last tournament of the season and snagged the last seed for state!

He was surprised he’d succeeded even though he'd known he was capable.

He savored the sweet victory.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean had wanted to drive down to Wichita to watch Cas’s tournament, but he’d promised to chaperone Sam and his friends at the bowling alley on Saturday. Normally, Mrs. Tran looked after the geeks during weekend outings, but she was out of town for a conference. Sam had been bummed that Kevin had chosen to spend the night with Jake rather than him. Dean told Sammy that the rift Ruby had caused between him and Kevin would take a long time to heal, that he needed to be patient, but Sam was dejected about it all the same.

Charlie had agreed to accompany Dean and the children. (Dean may’ve had to bribe her with a batch of Mom’s cookies.)

Jake, Kevin, and Channing formed one team while Dean, Charlie, Sam, and Jess composed the other one. Despite having the advantage in numbers, Dean’s team lost by a wide margin.

After the first game, the freshmen left to buy snacks, and Charlie stayed behind with Dean.

“Think we need to switch up the teams?” Dean asked.

“Sam and Jess might appreciate it,” Charlie muttered. “Face it, we suck.”

“No, we don’t,” Dean protested a little too vehemently.

Charlie arched an eyebrow. “Dean. Half of your rolls were gutter balls.”

“Whatever,” Dean scoffed.

Dean’s cell phone shrieked, and Dean flinched at the unexpected noise. Charlie smirked at him as he checked to see who was calling. Anna? Wasn’t she at the fencing tournament?

“Hello?” Dean greeted her.

“Hey, Dean,” Anna replied.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“So. I’m here at the tournament with Cas.”

“And?”

“And. He won the boys’ sabre!”

Dean laughed giddily. “You’re serious?!”

“Yes. It was a close call, but he had this epic comeback.”

Dean couldn’t suppress a wide smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“It means he’s goin’ to state.”

“Awesome.”

“So, I was thinking. We should throw him a surprise party after school on Monday or Tuesday. To congratulate him, you know.”

Dean loved the idea. He was miffed that he hadn’t come up with it himself. “Yeah, sure. Where do you wanna do it? My house?”

“Sure, if that’s okay.”

“Cool. I’ll spread the word.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Dean.”

“No, thank _you_. I’ve been thinkin’ about that tournament all night.”

After he hung up the phone, Dean grinned at Charlie. “What?” she prompted him. “You’re being creepy.”

“Cas won the tournament!”

“Cas won . . .” She began uncertainly before whooping in triumph.

“Yeah. That was Anna. We’re gonna have this surprise party and—”

Charlie elbowed him. “Kiddies are back.”

But only Jake, Kevin, and Channing had returned.

“Where’re Sam and Jess?” Dean wondered. The trio shrugged. “Are they still buyin’ snacks?”

“Maybe?” Kevin ventured.

No way were they still buying snacks if the others were back already. Dean sprinted toward the concession stand but saw no sign of them. Panicking, he raced around the building until he spotted a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

Tucked into a corner, Sam and Jess had their lips locked around each other. That kiss was too filthy for someone who was only fourteen. Hell, Dean didn’t even kiss Cas like that. Sam must’ve learned that shit from Ruby.

“Hey!” Dean barked. Sam and Jess flinched and hastily pushed each other away. Their eyes flitted to him before landing on the floor sheepishly.

“That’s enough of that. Not on my watch, kiddos.”

Sam gave Dean a mutinous look. “Dean, I’m not a kid anymore—”

“Zip it, pal. Unless you want me tellin’ Mom about this?” Sam reddened with frustration, but he remained silent. Thank God.

Dean dragged them back to the others, and as the night continued, he thought about nothing but Cas’s surprise party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie Callender's is a frozen food brand.
> 
> As always, thanks or reading, and I appreciate your feedback!


	25. Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-harm, sexual content, a brief reference to sexual assault, a brief reference to drug use, and a homophobic slur.
> 
> Feedback is welcome and appreciated. As always, thanks for reading!

“I don’t understand,” Castiel stated as he followed Dean to the Impala after school. “Why do you need help with math today? Didn’t you take the test this morning?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “but I’ve gotta start the next unit on the right foot.”

Castiel frowned. Not that he wasn’t pleased Dean wanted to stay on top of things, but he was confused. Usually, Dean wanted to celebrate getting one more test over with, not glance over the next unit. “Are you sure that you don’t have other activities in mind?”

“Like what?” Dean asked innocently as he held the passenger door open for Castiel.

Castiel waited for Dean to settle in the driver’s seat before enclosing a hand around his wrist. “Something like . . . ” He pressed his lips to Dean’s ear, dabbing his earlobe with his tongue as he whispered, “This.”

“Cas,” Dean sighed.

Castiel drew back. “You do not need to use subterfuge with me, Dean. I know what you want.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You know.”

“Why don’t ya show me?”

Castiel glanced out the window. He longed to plant his lips on Dean’s, but this would not be a judicious moment to do so. His impulse toward physical affection stunned him; it was so _strong_ , almost overwhelming. But he had to restrain himself. “Not while you are driving. That is dangerous.” He paused. “Let’s save the lies for Father.” He pecked the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel smiled. “But, Cas. I really do need you for somethin’ else.”

“Not math, surely.”

“No.” Dean flushed, and Castiel grew curious. What was he planning?

Finally, they pulled into the Winchesters’ driveway. They clambered out of the car, and Dean held Castiel’s hand as they strolled toward the front door. Dean unlocked the door and stepped inside. Castiel followed him and—

“Congratulations!” a chorus of voices exclaimed.

He squinted at the people in the room. He had to be imagining things. There was no way anyone would plan a party especially for him.

He surveyed the decorated room. A room decorated for someone else, of course. Blue and white balloons were strewn throughout the kitchen and living room, and all of his friends sported wide grins. Even Sam and his mathlete friends were present. The table contained a large assortment of snacks: pretzels, chips, a veggie tray, cookies, and a giant cake. A banner had been strung across the ceiling, one that read—

“CONGRATULATIONS, CASTIEL!”

Drawings of swords surrounded the words.

“This is for me?” Castiel marveled. Despite all the evidence, he still couldn’t believe this display was for his benefit.

Dean clapped him on the back. “Yep. You made it to state, man.”

Castiel smiled to himself. “I did.” During lunch, he’d told Dean about winning the tournament this weekend, but Dean hadn’t exhibited much enthusiasm about it. That had puzzled him, but now he understood why Dean had reacted that way. He’d already known. (He must have, or else how could he have put together this gathering?) And he’d done something so thoughtful that tears started to Castiel’s eyes.

“How did you know to—?” Castiel inquired, sweeping his hand across the room.

“Anna,” Dean answered, nodding at her.

Castiel glanced at her, and she blushed. “Yes,” she confirmed. Castiel wiped at his eyes.

“Hey, what is it?” Dean asked.

“I just cannot—this really is for me?”

“’Course it is.” Dean kissed him on the temple.

“We’re proud of you, Cas,” Charlie chimed in.

“You’ll kick ass at state!” Jo exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Castiel murmured.

“’Course ya will, brother,” Benny affirmed.

“I . . . thank you,” Castiel told the group.

“Sammy, cue the music, would ya?” Dean shouted.

Sam cringed at the nickname but obeyed, turning on the record player Dean must have retrieved from his room. A familiar guitar riff boomed out of the apparatus.

“Really, Dean? You chose Lynyrd Skynyrd?” Castiel remarked.

Dean broke into a grin. “You recognized it!”

“You play it all the time.”

“Nah. I’ve listened to this album maybe twice with you.”

“Hmmph.” Castiel wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Gimme back my bullets!” Dean sang along.

“Why don’t we just cut the cake?” Charlie suggested.

“ _Lame_.” Charlie glared at him. “Fine. Be my guest.”

Charlie sidled up to the table, and Hannah followed. While Charlie cut off slices from the cake, Hannah placed them on paper plates. She picked one up and offered it, along with a fork, to Castiel. “First one’s yours.”

Castiel was flattered, but he wanted to give others a chance to snag a piece before him. “No, that’s okay.”

“Nonsense. We’re celebrating _you_.”

“Okay,” Castiel exhaled after a moment. He accepted the plate from her and turned to everyone in the room. “Thank you,” he called over the music. “No one has ever done something so nice for me.” He was still astounded that all of this was for _him_.

“Hey, making it to state is a big deal,” Garth commented.

“Why don’t you try the cake, Cas?” Charlie suggested.

“I’ll wait until everyone else has a piece,” Castiel replied. After all, eating before the portions had been distributed would be rather rude.

“Go ahead. We don’t mind,” Hannah urged.

“All right.” Castiel took a bite. White buttercream icing, and was that—“Is this angel food cake?”

“Yep,” Charlie confirmed.

“A play on your name,” Dean added. Oh. How clever.

“Dean and I baked it yesterday,” Charlie explained.

“Impressive,” Castiel remarked.

As the group ate their slices of cake, each person approached Castiel and congratulated him. He was especially touched that Sam and his friends offered him earnest praise.

Eventually, the others drifted off into various conversations with each other, and Castiel was left alone.

Someone grabbed his elbow. “Hey,” Dean rumbled.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder at him. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean tugged at his elbow, and Castiel went along willingly. “Where are we going?”

Dean dragged him into his room and shut the door. “Thought we could use some time alone.”

“What about the party?”

Dean waved a dismissive hand at the door. “They won’t miss us.” He leaned in toward Cas, pinning him against the wall. “So. Fencing champion, huh?” Puffs of his breath landed on Castiel’s lips as he whispered the words. “That’s hot.” He pressed his lips to the side of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel arched into the touch. “Dean,” he gasped.

“Mmm.” His lips traveled up to the bottom of Castiel’s chin. Then they met Castiel’s lips.

Castiel returned the kiss with as much passion as Dean gave, savoring the taste of Dean’s mouth, the fact that they shared the same breath. They were bleeding into each other, and he loved the sensation. Dean ground onto him, and Castiel groaned. The heat accelerated toward his belly, like that time Dean had given him a blow job, almost blinding him with its intensity, almost frightening him with how suddenly it had come upon him.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, gently pushing him back.

“Sorry, was that too much?” Dean mumbled as he put more space between them. “Sorry. I shoulda asked ya first.”

“It’s just that someone else could stumble upon us,” Castiel reminded him. “That’s all.”

Dean looked unconvinced as he plopped onto his bed. Castiel felt a stab of guilt. Had he lied? Had that really been all? Or had he pushed Dean away out of fear?

Dean lay back on the bed and rested his head on his hands. “Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“What?” Castiel blurted. Did he think he’d somehow offended Castiel with his advances?

“For still . . . um. Acting like that. Wanting that, after, you know. Dad.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel commiserated. He joined Dean on the bed, their shoulders brushing. They both stared at the ceiling.

“Guess I’m just a sick bastard,” Dean muttered.

“No.” He snaked an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “No one would think that. _I_ would never think that.” He massaged Dean’s scalp, and he felt Dean relax underneath his hand. He recalled Mr. Winchester’s violent hands grasping his shoulders, the hatred in his eyes, and shivered.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asked.

“I was just remembering your father’s visit last week.” Dean grimaced. “I . . . he is a frightening man, Dean.”

“I guess. Sometimes. When he’s provoked.”

“No.” Dean looked confused. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you should never hold yourself responsible for the way he chooses to behave. There is nothing wrong with you. _He_ is the sick one.”

“Hmm.” Dean sounded doubtful, but at least he hadn’t contradicted Castiel outright. Hopefully, that meant Dean was beginning to understand he hadn’t deserved his father’s treatment.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean always looked forward to April Fool’s Day, the chance to fuck with people’s heads. This year, he and Charlie had planned a real doozy.

They waited until the first warning bell rang, when almost everyone had assembled in front of the school. Charlie cringed at his approach, and he braced himself.

He smacked his lips to Charlie’s, ensuring the kiss was clearly open-mouthed.

The students surrounding them hooted and hollered. When they broke apart, half of them were staring back in stunned disbelief.

“Thought you were a giant lesbo,” Meg remarked to Charlie once most of the people had dispersed. Charlie smirked.

“I always knew those two freaks had the hots for each other,” her boyfriend Crowley commented.

When they were finally alone, Charlie made a disgusted face and spat, “That was _gross._ Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed,” Dean replied.

“How long do you think they’ll believe it?”

“Eh. They’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.”

“You think they’ll realize it’s an April Fool’s joke?” Dean shrugged.

All day, people gave him astonished looks, and it took all of his effort not to guffaw at all the attention.

At lunch, their friends exclaimed and laughed over the prank they’d pulled. All except Cas, who maintained a grim silence.

Cas ignored him in English and fencing. Dean didn’t understand why he was getting the cold shoulder.

Well, he’d have to talk to him sometime soon. Even though it was a Friday, they’d planned to spend the late afternoon discussing their thoughts about the book Mr. Shurley was testing them over on Monday.

At home, they settled on Dean’s bed, and Cas buried his nose in the book. “Cas?” Dean ventured. “Why’re you mad at me?” Cas glanced up from his book, his expression seeming to say, _Can you really be that stupid?_ “This isn’t about that thing with Charlie, is it?” Cas glared at him, and Dean grew nervous. “You know that was a joke, right?”

“Some warning would have been nice,” Cas grumbled.

“Seriously? You’re gonna get pissy about this?”

“You _did_ kiss someone else,” Cas pointed out.

“Just for laughs.” 

“That is not a matter one should take lightly.”

“C’mon, Cas. Get that stick outta your ass.”

Cas threw his book on the bed and stood up. “If you’re going to talk to me like that, I suppose I should leave.”

Dean panicked. Had he gone too far? He hadn’t meant to offend Cas. If he’d known Cas would take it so personally, maybe he would’ve tried to think of another joke.

Cas packed up his backpack, his back to Dean. “Cas, babe,” Dean pleaded. “I’m sorry.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

Cas spun around, and his face had changed. Now he looked amused. Dean stared at him. What the hell was going on?

Cas burst into a fit of giggles, and wow, Dean was completely lost.

Cas sank back onto the bed and smiled at Dean. “You should have seen your face.”

“Huh?” Dean muttered.

“You . . . ” Cas laughed again. “April fools!”

“Wait . . . that was a joke?”

“Yes.”

Dean frowned. “Wow. You really scared me there.” Cas erupted into a fresh spate of giggles, and Dean scowled. “It ain’t funny, Cas,” he groused.

“But your face was amusing.”

“I almost had a damn heart attack."

Cas looked contrite. “I’m sorry.” He scooted toward Dean and gently pressed their lips together. When he pulled back, he said, “Better now?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed.

“I would hope that you preferred that to the one with Charlie.”

“Hell yeah. It was . . . yuck. Kinda like kissing my sister.”

Cas caressed Dean’s lip with his thumb. “Not something you wish to repeat?”

“Nope.” He drew Cas’s thumb into his mouth and sucked on it. Then he cupped Cas’s cheek with one hand and smashed their lips together, Cas’s thumb awkwardly remaining between them. Cas scraped it downward and stroked the side of Dean’s cheek. “This, on the other hand . . . I can never get enough of.”

“Mmm.” Cas licked at the seam between Dean’s lips, and Dean cracked them open. He settled in between Dean’s knees and snaked a hand underneath Dean’s shirt. Startled, Dean yelped. Cas had never been so demonstrative before. Cas met his eyes and smirked; then his hand moved downward, to the waistband of Dean’s jeans before cupping the fabric over Dean’s balls. Jumping back, Dean almost choked on his breath. Cas scooted to the other side of the bed, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he spluttered. “I should never have been so forward.”

“’S fine,” Dean assured him.

“Honestly, I don’t know what got into me . . . I have never.” Cas swallowed, eyes darting around the room nervously. “I have never even thought about doing that.”

“Seriously, Cas, it’s all right. I was just surprised. I didn’t mind.”

“No?”

“No. In fact.” He crawled toward Cas and grabbed his hand. “Far from it.” With his free hand, he unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down to his knees before dipping Cas’s hands underneath his boxers. He touched the tips of Cas’s fingers to his dick. At first, he groaned at the faint sensation, but then he grew nervous. “Is this all right?” he whispered. Cas nodded, but Dean felt his hand trembling underneath his own. He drew their hands out of the boxers and said, “We don’t have to do this.”

Cas maneuvered their hands back underneath the boxers. “But I want to.” He met Dean’s disbelieving gaze. “Oh, I admit, I am rather . . . petrified; this is so new, and not something I’ve ever wanted before, but . . . I want it now.” He swiped his thumb over Dean’s slit.

“Cas,” Dean hissed, involuntarily bucking into their joined hands. Cas tentatively stroked up and down Dean’s shaft, and God, Dean was gonna come embarrassingly quick.

“I apologize if this lacks finesse,” Cas said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doin’ fine, babe,” Dean murmured. Okay, so maybe Cas’s movements were kinda clumsy, but Dean didn’t mind. Just the fact that it was _Cas_ got him excited. Not only that, but this was Cas’s first time doing something like this. And that was hot. For God’s sake, he bet Cas had never even masturbated.

“Cas, I’m gonna—” Dean warned through clenched teeth only a second before he spilled over their hands. Cas withdrew his hand and stared in wonder at the sticky white substance.

“What do I do with this?” Cas asked, tone so clinical that Dean couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

“Here.” Dean hopped off the bed and snatched an old T-shirt from his dresser. After wiping off his hand, he passed the shirt to Cas, who copied him.

“What do I do about . . . ?” Cas flushed.

“About what?”

“I think I—” He glanced down at his crotch, where a prominent wet spot stained his jeans.

“Oh, my God, Cas, you came in your pants?”

Cas turned redder than Dean had thought humanly possible. “It appears that I was aroused by your arousal.”

“Damn, that’s hot.” Cas scowled. “Okay. I’ll give you somethin’ of mine for now.” He handed Cas a pair of his own jeans and boxers, both of which were a little baggy on him, and changed his boxers as well. Afterward, he gathered Cas’s soiled garments and said, “I’ll wash these.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas’s clothes weren’t done yet when they went to the kitchen for a snack. Sam was in there making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he spotted Cas, he looked appalled and scurried out of the kitchen, leaving his sandwich on the counter.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel was curled up in bed with _A People’s History of the United States_ , a lengthy tome Michael had thought might be of interest to him. He’d just started the book, but already he believed that Michael had probably been right.

His thoughts kept drifting off, however. All day, he’d been thinking about what he’d done yesterday afternoon with Dean.

At first, he’d been afraid that his actions might have triggered Dean. Why hadn’t he practiced more self-control? He’d broken his resolution to let Dean take the lead. Until Dean had reciprocated his gestures, he had despised himself for it.

The closer he and Dean grew, the stronger Castiel’s sexual desire for him became. He wasn’t quite sure he understood why. The thought of sex with anyone else sickened him.

“Castiel!” Father called from the hallway, disrupting the quiet. Castiel flinched at the sudden noise.

“Yes, Father?” Castiel replied.

Father entered the bedroom. “Don’t you have some progress reports for me to sign?”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel mumbled, returning his gaze to the book. “I’ll give them to you tomorrow.”

“Look at me when you talk!” Father shouted.

“Yes, sir,” Castiel squeaked, forcing his eyes to meet Father’s.

“I wish to see the progress reports now.”

“All right,” Castiel sighed as he climbed out of bed.

“Don’t give me that attitude.”

“Yes, sir.” Castiel dug around in his backpack until he found the papers in question, which he handed to Father. He grabbed a pen off of Castiel’s desk and signed all of them, pausing at the end of the stack. “What is this? You have a 96 in European History?”

“Yes, Father.” Why was that such a big deal? He had lower A’s in Biology and English, and Mrs. Ingalls was a difficult teacher, besides.

Father tsked. “No wonder. Naomi told me you and Hannah Goodwin and that dyke Charlie Bradbury gossip all hour.”

“That is not true.” Perhaps they did socialize occasionally, but not nearly as much as Mrs. Ingalls’s favorites, Bela and Lilith. “And do not speak of Charlie that way.” He knew the objection would anger Father, but he could not let the slur pass without comment.

“Don’t presume to tell me what to do, Castiel. I am your father.” He glanced down at the progress report then back up. “This grade is very disappointing, Castiel. You shall be punished. No visits with Gabriel for a month.”

“You cannot be serious.” Father glared at him. “That is absurd.” He should have kept his opinion to himself, but this was irrational, even for Father.

“Hush, Castiel. You should show me some respect.”

“I hate you,” he hissed. When he heard the words pass through his lips, he cringed inside. He had gone too far.

“What did you say?”

It was too late to back down now. He stood up a little straighter. “I hate you.”

“You little shit.” He slapped Castiel, knocking his teeth into his lip. Castiel paid his bleeding lip no mind, though. He hardly ever heard Father curse, and that one syllable, along with the contempt he’d infused into it, took Castiel aback more than the physical blow. “You’re almost as wicked as your mother.”

Mother? What did Mother have to do with anything?

“Why does God test me with such trying individuals?” Father stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

The behavior had been rather tame by Father’s standards, but Castiel felt more resentment than he had in quite some time. Why had he brought up Mother? Why would he object to an A just because it wasn’t higher?

 _Dammit_.

Castiel tossed his book at the door. He held his breath, afraid the noise would draw Father back to his room, but luckily, he didn’t come back.

 _And no Gabriel why not is he trying to break me is that why he did it is it some lame excuse to prevent me from seeing Gabriel?_ After all, Father had been toying with the idea of revoking the visits.

_I hate him hate him hate him HATE HIM_

_If only I could kill him_

And there it was. Father was right. He was wicked. Why else would he fantasize about killing Father? Smile when he imagined blood gushing from Father’s throat?

He retrieved the steak knife he’d stashed underneath his bed and twirled it between his fingers, mesmerized by the motion. If he could punish himself, purge the sin out of himself somehow—

He sliced down his right calf, wincing at the pain but grinning at the blood as it gushed.

 _Oh, God_.

The knife slipped to the floor from his fingers.

Dean. He’d told Dean he would go to him before he did anything, but he’d failed.

That was all he was. A failure.

He had to show Dean now. Otherwise, Dean would accuse him of lying again, as he had at the diner.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was midnight. Father should be asleep by now.

He cracked open the window and crawled out. He rushed to the Winchesters’ and knocked on Dean’s window. Dean opened it a second later and studied him. “Cas?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

Castiel propped his ankle on the windowsill and pointed at his calf. “This.”

“Shit, it’s still bleeding!”

“Oh.” So it was. “I apologize. I should have cleaned it up before I came over.”

“No, it’s okay. Come in.” Dean clasped his hand and helped him inside. He disappeared for a minute and returned with a towel, which he wrapped around Castiel’s leg. “Hopefully that’ll work.”

“Yes.”

Dean sank to the floor, and Castiel sat down next to him. “Why, Cas?” he asked, his eyes moist. Castiel hated that he’d caused Dean so much pain. Maybe he shouldn’t have come after all? He didn’t know. It was all so confusing.

Castiel shrugged. “I got in a fight with Father.”

“What’d that dickweed do?”

“It wasn’t even that bad. I just got so angry! I kept getting these images of how to kill him, and . . .” Castiel shivered. “I think I’m evil,” he whimpered. “To even think such terrible things.”

“Cas, you’re the furthest thing from evil I know.” Castiel gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously. We all have bad thoughts sometimes. It doesn’t make _you_ bad. Not like you’d ever act on them.”

“But how do I know I won’t?”

“ _I_ know you won’t.”

“How?”

Dean shrugged. “Just do.” He pulled Castiel into his arms. “C’mere.” Castiel went along willingly, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. They lay like that for a long time, occasionally dozing, until the first tendrils of dawn streamed in through the window. By then, Castiel’s blood had long dried. He thanked Dean for his help and left.

At home, he washed off his leg and threw on some lounge pants to hide the wound from Father. Then he burrowed underneath his covers, face aflame with shame.

xxxxxxxxxx

Going to the therapist every week wasn’t so bad after all. It gave Dean the chance to unload all the shit eating at his brain. So far, he’d only talked about ordinary things, nothing about Dad, and it was actually kinda helpful.

“So,” Layla said at one point. “Who’s this Cas?”

Dean instantly put his guard up. “Why?”

“You talk about him a lot. He must be someone special.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s face heated up. “He is.” When Layla didn’t say anything he added, “He’s my boyfriend.” Not that that was any of her business, but it was a good way to test her. If she gave him shit for dating a guy, then he wouldn’t talk to her anymore.

She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, well, Dad wasn’t a fan of it,” Dean muttered.

“What?”

“N—nothing.” Why’d he let that slip? He didn’t want to talk about that shit. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to.

At another session, Dean mustered up the courage to ask something that’d been nagging at him. “One of my friends told me that sexual assault was about power. Is that true?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Why? What happened to you, Dean?” Her voice was full of so much compassion that Dean felt guilty for not spilling his guts then and there. But he didn’t want to admit what had happened. It would show that he was weak, pathetic. Dirty.

“Nothing,” he answered. He quickly moved on to something else, rambling about how he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve quit the year’s last play after all. Which was sort of true, but it wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making it out to be.

At the end of the meeting, Dean asked something else. He knew he was probably tipping his hand with the question, but it bothered him a lot. “So. Um. Let’s say someone was sexually assaulted, but that person, um, still thinks about sex. Still wants to do sexual things. Is that fucked up or what?”

“No, that person would not be ‘fucked up,’ as you put it,” she said gently.

“They wouldn’t?”

“No. In fact . . . it might even be good.”

“Good? How?”

“Well. This is rather difficult to explain. It’s something that the experience did not steal from the individual. Sex in and of itself is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Huh. Dean wasn’t sure he understood what she was talking about, but he thought about Layla’s words over the next few days. He wanted to do sexual things with Cas, and according to Layla, that didn’t mean something was wrong with him.

He wasn’t sick. He was just fine.

But would she believe that if she knew the whole truth?

He was afraid to find out.

Next time they met, he didn’t bring up anything related to the topic, though. His mind was on Cas, who’d cut himself only a couple days ago. He remembered the wild look in his eyes, the fear and hopelessness, and he hurt for him. So much.

Maybe Layla could give him some advice on how to help.

“Let’s say I have a friend who’s been cutting himself,” Dean told her. “What should I do?”

Layla’s eyes softened. “Have you been hurting yourself, Dean?”

“No, not me.” He licked his lips and whispered, “It’s Cas.”

“Cas?”

“Yeah. His dad’s a dick. Like, abusive as hell, and obviously that sucks. How can I help him stop?”

“Does he want to stop?”

“’Course he does. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Did he explicitly say that?”

Dean frowned. “Well, no.”

“You can’t push him, Dean. If you try to make him stop before he’s ready, it might get worse.”

“How can I get him to be ready?”

“He confides in you about the self-harming?”

“A little.”

“That’s good. For now, just maintain his trust. Be there for him, and don’t judge. Don’t push him.”

“Okay.”

Dean could do that. But fuck, something in his heart twisted when he remembered how much pain Cas had been in on Saturday night. And he still hadn’t forgotten the sight of him in the bathroom several weeks ago, smoking a joint and looking for all the world as if he’d given up.


	26. Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for heavy underage alcohol use. child abuse, and nightmares/flashbacks involving child molestation.
> 
> In general, this is a depressing chapter. Sorry, but our boys have been going through some heavy stuff. The state fencing championships come in the next chapter, though, so things will get better.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is appreciated. The fic now has a little over 150 kudos, which is another milestone. Thanks to all of you kind and wonderful readers!

Mom told Dean and Sam they would stay with Bobby while she was out of town over the next few days.

“But, Mom,” Dean objected, “why do we have to go to Bobby’s? I’m eighteen. I can take care of us.”

“I would just feel better if you were with him,” Mom said.

“Fine. Whatever. But why’re we goin’ to Bobby’s? We hardly know the guy.”

Mom looked uneasy. “He . . . he knows about John.”

So that was it. Mom was scared Dad might show up again, and she thought Bobby’s presence might keep him away. It wasn’t an unreasonable fear, but would Dad really do that? He’d already ambushed them at home twice. Shouldn’t he have gotten the picture by now?

Cas was supposed to help him study for math the next afternoon. He was sure his dad wouldn’t let him go to Bobby’s instead of Dean’s, so he conveniently “forgot” to tell his dad about where he was really going. Dean understood why he’d lied, but he was afraid of what would happen if Mr. Novak found out about it.

Bobby lived in a less well-off part of town, kinda close to Jo. It took Dean a few minutes to spot the nondescript, somewhat run-down white clapboard house at the end of a street. Bobby had left a key under the doormat. After Dean retrieved it and let everyone inside, Sam set up camp in the kitchen (where mail was strewn all over the countertops as well as the table) while Dean and Cas settled on the worn out brown couch in the living room. Books littered the coffee table, even the floor. Curious, Dean picked one up and discovered it was some book about religious history. Interesting. He’d never thought a guy who owned a garage would want to read something like that.

“Dean?” Cas prompted him. “Should we get started?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Cas helped him with math for a couple of hours. As soon as Dean’s stomach grumbled, Bobby stumbled inside, pizza box in hand. Dean glanced up at him. “Uh. Hey.”

“Hey, Dean,” Bobby replied.

Dean gestured at Cas. “You’ve met Cas.” His boyfriend flushed at the reminder of the night Dad had stormed into Dean’s house.

“Yeah. Who said you could have company?”

“We’ve been studyin’.”

“I’ll bet,” Bobby scoffed.

“No, seriously.”

“Dean has a math test tomorrow,” Cas inserted.

“Whatever. Just as long as he’s gone by a decent hour.”

“I will be.”

Bobby passed through to the kitchen then returned. “Y’all gonna come eat or what?” Dean and Cas stowed away their papers and followed him into the kitchen.

“Really? Pepperoni?” Sam whined when they entered the kitchen.

Bobby looked like he was going to gripe back, so Dean preempted him. “Shut up, Sammy. He didn’t have to get us anything at all.” He turned to Bobby. “Sorry ’bout that. Sam’s kinda a loser. He likes veggies on his pizza.”

“Cas likes veggies, too,” Sam pointed out.

“But I do enjoy pepperoni upon occasion,” Cas replied, snatching up a piece. “Pardon me,” he said to Bobby as he caught the dripping grease in his free hand, “but do you have a plate I can put this on?”

“’Course,” Bobby said. He grabbed four paper plates from a cabinet and four cans of Coke from the fridge then plopped them on the table. “Here.”

Cas snatched up a plate and a Coke. “Thank you.”

“’Welcome.”

“May I sit down?”

“Go ahead.”

As Cas sank into a chair, Dean took a plate, a can, and a slice of pizza. “This is awesome. Thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Sam echoed.

Cas eyed a bottle of Tabasco sauce on the table. “May I use that?”

“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” Bobby answered. “Wait a minute! You put Tabasco on your pizza?”

“Sometimes.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean put in, kicking Cas under the table. Cas glared at him.

“Dean, you are the one who puts Tabasco in mac and cheese to ‘spice things up.’”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Now _that’s_ disgusting,” Bobby opined.

“Aw, Sam likes it.”

Sam reddened. “Only because Dean told me it was gourmet food.”

“Nah, squirt, you loved it.” He fondly recalled periodically making Sam mac and cheese for dinner when Dad was passed out stupid. Those were the only good memories he had of Dad being drunk.

After supper, Dean drove Cas home. When he returned to Bobby’s, he didn’t see Sam anywhere.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked Bobby, who was watching _Dr. Sexy_ in the living room. “Oh, my God! I love this show.”

“In the shower. Why don’t ya join me? ” He patted a seat next to him, and Dean collapsed onto the sofa.

“This is a rerun,” Dean observed.

“An oldie but a goodie.”

During a commercial break, Bobby commented, “Your boyfriend’s strange.”

“Strange how?”

“He talks so formal-like.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So nothin’. It’s just kinda weird. Didn’t think he’d be your type.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, I don’t. But y’all act so different. And John said—” Bobby stopped in the middle of the sentence. “Never mind.”

“Does he still work at your garage?”

“Nah. Fired him after that night.” Dean didn’t need any clarification about what “that night” referred to.

“So does that mean he doesn’t have a job?”

“Probably.”

“But how’s he gonna live?” Dean worried. He might freeze up at the thought even seeing Dad again, but he didn’t want him to starve to death or something. “What if he dies?”

Bobby snorted. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” But when he noticed Dean’s panicked expression, he softened. “You serious? _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Dean nodded. “Christ, son. After what he did to you?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He rushed outside, to the Impala, and curled up in the backseat. Baby’s embrace soothed him.

Urgent knocking on the window disturbed his newfound peace.

“Dean, boy!” Bobby yelled.

“Leave me alone!” Dean shouted back.

“Shit, son, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not your son,” Dean grumbled.

That seemed to give Bobby pause, but he bounced back a moment later. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Leave me alone. Please?”

“Dean—”

Dean sat up, unrolled the window, and gazed at Bobby pleadingly. “I just want to be alone right now, okay?”

“Okay. If you’re sure—”

“I am.”

Bobby finally left him alone, and Dean laid back down. Surrounded by Baby, he felt safe.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel paced in his room, reviewing the decision he’d just made. It was something that had been on his mind for the past few weeks, but he’d never mustered up the courage to ask Michael about it.

Not until now.

He still wasn’t sure if he should make the request, but Father’s behavior grew increasingly erratic every day.

He dialed Michael’s number before he could change his mind.

“Hello?” Michael answered.

“Hello, Michael,” Castiel replied.

“How have you been?”

Castiel swallowed and blinked away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Michael fretted. “What happened?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “Father. He . . . won’t even let me see Gabriel.”

“Why would anyone wish to see Gabriel?” Michael gibed.

“Michael,” Castiel warned.

“Sorry. What’s his reason?”

“He says it’s because I have a 96 in European History.”

“Seriously? That’s phenomenal. Mrs. Ingalls is tough.”

“I know.”

Michael sighed. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Michael. You’re a lawyer. What if I could . . . could you help me . . . emancipate myself from him? I could come stay with you.”

A long pause followed. Finally, Michael answered, voice subdued. “No, Castiel.”

“Why not?”

“I just . . . I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll talk to Father. Try to reason with him.”

“No,” Castiel squeaked.

“No?”

“If you do that, he’ll know I told you, and he’ll get mad . . . ”

“What do you mean? Castiel. What has he done?”

Castiel hiccupped a sob. “Goodbye, Michael.”

“Castiel, wait—”

“Goodbye.”

Castiel hung up and angrily tossed the phone onto the floor. Why wouldn’t Michael help him? Michael knew how irrational Father could be, yet he was willing to leave Castiel alone with him. Why? Why didn’t Michael love him?

He knew that wasn’t true. Michael did care.

But he didn’t care _enough_.

Gabriel would help, he knew, if he asked. But he didn’t want to bother Gabriel with the matter. He remembered overhearing his brother’s conversation with Kali all those weeks ago, about how he wished he could rescue Castiel from Father but couldn’t afford it. Gabriel could barely make ends meet for himself; he didn’t need his little brother added to the upkeep.

So without Michael’s intersession, Castiel was forced to abide by Father’s rules, and Father had forbidden him from seeing Gabriel.

He was cut off from Gabriel, and Michael didn’t care what happened to him.

He jumped off the bed and dug around underneath it until he found the whiskey bottle he now kept for emergencies. Drinking would probably be better than turning the knife on himself. Plus, he’d never promised to tell Dean if he drank.

He guzzled down as much as he could, forcing it to stay down. Eventually, he had to slow down and take only sips.

_Why doesn’t Michael love me?_

_Why does everyone leave me here alone?_

_Why does Father have to be the way he is?_

_Why does he hate me so much? He used to be proud of me. I got into several good schools. By some miracle, I still have my 4.0 average._

_So why is he so disappointed in me?_

_What’s wrong with me?_

_What’s so wrong with me that I have to be alone?_

_Why can’t they love me more?_

_Why can’t Father love me more?_

_Why can’t I be a better person? More likeable? Less contemptible?_

He must’ve passed out, for the next thing he knew, his alarm was blaring, and he bolted upright. It seemed he’d drunk a little more than a third of the bottle. Was that a lot? He thought so.

Oh, well. He had to go to school. He just needed to hide his state from Father.

He gazed at his countenance in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks pale. He could probably say he had difficulty sleeping. Right?

But Father paid little attention to him as they got ready. With unsteady hands, he poured his usual bowl of Cheerios, but after one bite, he felt sick. He rushed to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet.

Father was waiting for him outside the bathroom. “Are you sick, Castiel?”

“Just a little queasy,” Castiel slurred.

Father sniffed. “You’ve been drinking.” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Father held up a hand to forestall him. “We will discuss this later. Quit malingering. It’s time to leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

It took all of Castiel’s concentration not to trip with every step. He managed to keep it together during first hour, but when he got to second hour, he panicked. He’d forgotten that today he had a test in biology. He’d studied extensively over the weekend, but now he couldn’t remember the material. He couldn’t fail; he barely had an A in the class. So, he surreptitiously glanced at Hannah’s test.

“Castiel!” Mr. Turner thundered.

Castiel jumped. “Sir?”

Mr. Turner crooked a finger at him. “Come here. And bring that test with you.” Castiel grabbed his test and approached him. Mr. Turner held out a hand. “Give it to me,” he whispered.

“Sir?” Castiel whispered back, bewildered.

“I saw you look at Hannah’s test. You know very well that anyone caught cheating gets a zero.”

No. _No._ He definitely could not afford that. His eyes filled with tears. “Mr. Turner—”

Mr. Turner snatched the test from him. “But I am willing to give you a pass, Castiel. This is out of character for you. You can make up the test after school tomorrow.—”

“But I have fencing after school.” Castiel didn’t know why he was objecting. Mr. Turner was being very kind to him.

“I’m sure Ms. Mills will understand.” He sighed. “Castiel, you have been drinking again. It’s ISS for you.”

“Okay.”

Mr. Turner handed him the requisite form to give to the In-School Suspension monitor and sent him on his way. ISS wasn’t so bad. In fact, it meant he could avoid Dean and his friends while he was still intoxicated.

But he changed his mind once he arrived at the room.

Mrs. Thomas accepted his form and pointed at a seat next to Meg Masters, of all people. “You can sit there, Mr. Novak,” the grizzled old woman directed.

He slid into the desk beside Meg, who smirked at him. “What’s Mr. Goody Two-Shoes doing in ISS?”

Mrs. Thomas cracked her pointer against the teacher’s desk. “No talking, Ms. Masters.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Watch your attitude, young lady.”

Meg crooked an eyebrow. “Who you callin’ a young lady?” She propped her legs up on her desk. As she was wearing a short leather skirt, this action exposed quite a bit of skin. Castiel couldn’t help but stare. He was pretty sure the skirt broke the dress code. Meg caught his eye and leered at him. “See somethin’ you like, Clarence? If you want, I can forget about all that shit you pulled on Halloween.”

Castiel glared at her. He had done nothing wrong at the Halloween party. Besides—“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Who, Crowley?” she scoffed. “A girl’s gotta get her kicks somewhere.” She leaned over and ran an index finger over his thigh. “I’d _much_ rather get them from you.”

“Ms. Masters, leave Mr. Novak alone,” Mrs. Thomas admonished.

“Hell, I bet I could get Crowley to play ball with us, if you’re into that.”

Play ball? She wanted to play a game with him and Crowley? He caught Meg’s lascivious grin and realized what she’d meant. _Oh._ A threesome. His face heated up.

Castiel’s stomach lurched. The thought of having sex with either of them alone, never mind together, repulsed him.

Meg cackled and squeezed his thigh. “I think I just scared the wee little virgin here!” The other kids chuckled.

Castiel shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“That’s enough, Ms. Masters. You have lines to write.” She gestured at the board, which said, “I promise to behave in the future.” “Write that 200 times.”

“Lines? Seriously? What is this, the 1950s?” Meg complained. Castiel snickered despite himself, and she gave him an appreciative look. Mrs. Thomas was rather old-fashioned. That was why she got along with Father.

Mrs. Thomas rapped her pointer on Meg’s desk, and Meg squeaked. “Keep talking if you want to double your lines.”

“Fine. Sheesh.”

Castiel gritted his teeth and began scribbling the lines. This was tedious. Seriously, what was the point? How was this an effective disciplinary method?

“Psst, Clarence,” Meg whispered. Castiel scowled at her, and she pointed at Mrs. Thomas, who’d fallen asleep on her desk. “How about we skip out of here?” Castiel shrugged. She hopped off of her seat and tried to open the door, but to no avail. “Fuckin’ bitch locked us in!” she fumed. Mrs. Thomas twitched, but thankfully she did not wake up. The other kids stared at Meg questioningly. “What’re you lookin’ at? Get back to work, freaks.” They scurried to obey, for Meg was actually quite intimidating.

Meg returned to her seat. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Write your lines?” Castiel suggested as he continued to scrawl on his paper.

“Fuck that shit. That’s the most goddamn pointless thing I’ve ever heard.”

Castiel smiled to himself. “I agree.”

Meg clapped him on the shoulder, tittering. Castiel glared at her hand, and she removed it. “Sorry.” She watched him. After a few minutes, he raised his eyes to her. Why was she staring at him? “If you know it’s pointless, why’re you still doin’ it?”

“Because I have to.”

“Lame.” She grabbed his looseleaf sheets, crumpled them, and tossed them toward the trash can.

“Hey!” he exclaimed.

“Live a little, Clarence. You don’t have to do everything The Man tells you.”

“What man? Mrs. Thomas is a woman.”

Meg threw her heard back and laughed. “Oh, that’s funny.” When he didn’t react, she stopped. “Wait, you’re serious? You don’t know what that means?” Castiel shook his head. “Y’know, The Man?” Castiel was still baffled. “Seriously, your pal Dean Winchester never mentioned it to you? Isn’t he into classic rock and shit?” She sighed. “Like the people in charge, you know. Big Brother.”

“You’ve read _1984_?” Castiel replied, surprised.

“Oh, is that where ‘Big Brother’ comes from. I’ve always wondered.”

Castiel glanced at Mrs. Thomas. “I hardly see how this is akin to a freedom-crushing dystopia.”

“But don’t you see? It’s how it starts. They begin with shit like this; then they work up to taking all your rights away.”

Castiel wasn’t sure whether he understood her argument. Since Mrs. Thomas was asleep and Meg wouldn’t let him complete his task, he pulled out the whiskey he’d secreted underneath his trench coat and took a sip.

Meg’s eyes widened. “Give me some of that.”

Castiel scrubbed at his mouth with his wrist. “No. It’s mine.”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell Mrs. Thomas that you have it.”

“Fine.” He passed the bottle to her and stared as she guzzled some of it down.

“What?” she said after giving it back to him.

The other kids were gazing at them again. “Back to work,” Meg snapped at them. They obeyed.

Castiel grinned. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make them do what you say?”

“Gotta show them who’s boss, Clarence. Let them know you won’t take any shit.”

They shared the whiskey bottle for a while. When Mrs. Thomas stirred, Castiel hastily stashed the bottle away and started anew on the lines.

At the end of the school day, Meg said, “Y’know, you ain’t so bad, Clarence.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied. “You aren’t, either.”

She proffered a sarcastic smile and left.

Castiel wondered about her. She was actually more intelligent than she had initially seemed. She had seen _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , which did not seem like a movie that would be to her taste. He’d enjoyed it when he’d watched it with his friends over Christmas Break, but Meg portrayed herself as unsentimental.

Castiel rushed to his locker, where Dean met him.

“Cas? Thank God. Where’ve you been? Mr. Shurley gave us another project. I told him we were gonna be partners and—” He frowned at Castiel. “God, you stink. Have you been drinking?”

“Just a little,” Castiel slurred. He frowned at how clumsy his tongue felt.

“What the hell? Where’ve you been, anyway?”

“ISS.”

“ISS?” He shut Castiel’s locker. “C’mon. You’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“We have fencing, Dean.”

“You can’t fence right now. C’mon.” Dean dragged him to a secluded part of the grounds. “Now. What’ve you been drinkin’?”

Castiel pulled out the bottle, which had maybe one-third of its contents left. “This.”

Dean snatched it away. “Christ, Cas! You drank all this by yourself?”

“With Meg.”

“Who?”

“Meg Masters.”

“Meg Masters?! That bitch?”

“She is actually not that bad, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You must have a screw loose.”

“No. I have been contemplating this. I think . . . I think that she might be putting on a façade.”

“Are you crazy?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Fine, whatever. But, Cas.” He shook the bottle. “Why've you been drinking again? What happened?”

Castiel wrung his hands, suddenly ashamed. “It’s idiotic and rather childish.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you, and you’ll see. I’m weak, Dean. Father is . . . being Father. And I’m not sure I can handle it for four more months. Alone.”

“Cas—”

“I’ve tried everything,” Castiel sobbed. “But there’s nothing I can do it about.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Told you it was silly.”

“No, Cas, it’s not. You’re not alone, babe. You can always talk to me. Please.”

Dean embraced him, and he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder until it was time to go. Dean never returned the bottle to him.

At home, Father sat him down on the couch. “Drinking is a very serious offense, Castiel.” He didn’t reply. “Rufus Turner gave you ISS today, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Yes _, sir_ , Castiel.” He remembered what Meg had said today about The Man, and he remained silent. Father sneered and continued, “He must like you for some reason. He harped on how worried he was about you.”

Of course, as Father knew, Castiel wasn’t usually well-liked by teachers even though he often made the highest grades. He just wasn’t personable, and he was awkward.

“I told him you were being a typical rebellious teenager. He didn’t seem convinced.” He paused. “Castiel. You will not give him cause to discuss you with me again. I do not want that man interfering in my affairs. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated deliberately.

Father backhanded him. “Insolent child. Retrieve the switch.”

“No.”

“You dare talk back to me?” He sighed. “Very well.” He took off his belt. “I will use this. Drop your pants.”

“No.”

“Stop this impertinence.” Castiel glowered at him. Father began swinging wildly, and the buckle hit Castiel, first on his arms, blessedly covered by the trench coat, but then it landed on his face a couple of times. His lip split open, and his hand flew to a bruise forming on his left cheek. “If you tell anyone about this, your punishment will be worse next time.”

“I hate you,” Castiel hissed through clenched teeth. Father swung the belt one last time, and it hit him in the head. All he could think about was the pain, and his eyes grew moist.

“Do not disrespect your elders, Castiel. You will suffer for it.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Cas seemed to be getting worse, and it tore him up inside. He had been visibly drunk this afternoon, his breath reeking of alcohol. Clearly, he also hadn’t slept much; he’d had dark caverns underneath his eyes. Cas felt trapped, and he was in turn beating himself up for his emotions. He was stuck in a cycle he couldn’t escape, and no matter how much Dean wracked his brain, he couldn’t think of anything he could do to help. If only he could give Mr. Novak a piece of his mind, expose that motherfucker for the bastard he was. But he couldn’t do that without betraying Cas.

_. . . . Dean was in the kitchen. Cas had just left, and Dad surprised him, his face contorted in rage._

_“Fuckin’ fag!” he shouted. “Bet you want your old man, don’t you?”_

_“What?” Dean gasped. “No.”_

_Dad ripped off Dean’s clothes, and they disappeared into the air. Dean was now naked in front of his fully clothed father, and he felt too exposed. Vulnerable, and there was no way to shield himself._

_“Daddy, please,” Dean pleaded._

_“You’re begging your own old man to fuck you? I always knew you were sick. No good.”_

_“No, Dad, that’s not—”_

_Dad shoved him to the floor, and his hands were all over him, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Dean wanted to throw up. He tried to shove Dad off of him, but he couldn’t move. Dad pulled his dick out of his pants and pushed into Dean, too rapidly, it fuckin’ hurt, and it was suffocating him, destroying him, and he was powerless to do anything but let his own goddamn dad fuck into him, listen to Dad’s groans of satisfaction—_

“Dean. Dean, wake up,” a woman’s voice urged softly.

Dean’s eyes flew open. Mom was sitting on the bed beside him. “Mom? What happened?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Thank God it hadn’t been real. Then again, it had been all too real. It wasn’t that much different than what had actually happened.

“You’re shivering, dear.”

“Oh.” Only now did he realize that he was shaking uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop.

“Mom?” Sam called from the doorway. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Go to your room, Sam,” Mom said.

“But—” Mom gave him a look, and he scurried away.

Mom ran a hand through Dean’s hair. “Do you want to talk about it, honey?”

“No,” Dean rasped.

Dean’s limbs continued to tremble. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to stop. He couldn’t live with this. He _couldn’t_. It would be with him forever, and he didn’t see how he could ever cope.

“Dean?” Mom said gently.

He gazed up at her. “Yeah?”

“It’s okay—”

“No, Mom. I still don’t understand. How could Dad do . . . what he did?”

“I don’t know.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I should've protected you.”

“No, Mom. It ain’t your fault.”

Mom hugged him. “I’m here for you, Dean. I love you, and I always will.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” He paused. “You should probably go back to bed.”

“No.—”

“Mom. Go,” he insisted.

“All right. But if you need me—”

“I’ll be fine.”

A few minutes after Mom had left, someone knocked on the door. “Dean?” Sam called.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Sam entered and shut the door behind him. “Can I sleep with you?”

Huh. That was odd. Sam hadn’t wanted to sleep with him for years. “Why? Had a nightmare, Sammy?”

“No. But you did.”

Dean froze. “Whaddaya know about that?”

“Nothing. I just thought you might like some company.”

“Sure, why not?” It wasn’t like he was going to get any more sleep, anyway.

Sam dozed off after a while, but Dean lay awake for hours. Sam’s presence was surprisingly reassuring, and eventually Dean somehow drifted off.

Still, he couldn’t face going to school the next morning.


	27. The Good Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual content, references to physical and sexual child abuse, and brief references to self-harm and underage drinking.

He had gone about things the wrong way yesterday, Castiel decided. No doubt all that drinking had impaired his thinking. But he had finally come to a realization: if he wanted to defy Father, he had to be more subtle about it. Otherwise, Father might lash out worse than he had yesterday. He could pay lip service to Father while secretly plotting mutiny.

Because Father worked at the school, Castiel always arrived there earlier than most people. He took his customary seat near the entrance and waited for Dean. The noise around him escalated as the school filled up, but he paid it no mind as he read. Dean would announce his presence when he got there.

“Clarence?” a noise shouted over the din.

Castiel glanced up from his book and squinted in confusion. “Meg?” He prayed she wouldn’t humiliate him again. He’d thought they’d come to some sort of understanding in ISS yesterday, but perhaps he had been wrong.

“Shit, what happened to your face?”

“My face?” Castiel rubbed a hand over his cheek and winced. Yes, he did have quite a noticeable bruise. Of course people would comment on it. He should’ve come up with a plausible backstory.

“Meg, what the hell are you doing over here?” Anna demanded as she and Hannah approached them.

Meg smirked. “Who died and made you boss?”

“Leave him alone.”

“I’m not bothering him.—”

“ _Go_!”

“Sheesh.” She eyed Castiel. “Reign in your harpies, Clarence.”

“If you pull anything—”

“Relax. I’m outta here.”

As Meg stalked away, Anna said, “Sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel replied. “She actually wasn’t bothering me.” Though who knew what sort of stunt she might have been planning?

“Really? I—” She was interrupted by Hannah’s gasp. “What is it?”

“Look at his face, Anna,” Hannah urged.

Anna finally turned her gaze toward him. A sharp intake of breath followed. “What happened?!”

“Nothing,” Castiel squeaked.

“Bullshit. There’s a bruise that covers almost half your face.”

Castiel came up with the best lie he could at a moment’s notice. “I have a bad habit of sleepwalking and I . . . I ran into a wall last night.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Anna gave him a skeptical look, but she said nothing further.

At lunch, Castiel offered the lie once again when his friends asked him about the bruise. It actually wasn’t that far-fetched, as Castiel was known to be rather clumsy upon occasion. Once, at Hannah’s on movie night, he’d run into the glass door leading to the porch. The door had been so clean that Castiel had thought it was open.

“Sounds like somethin' you might wanna take care of, brother,” Benny opined after hearing about Castiel’s alleged sleepwalking problem.

Castiel was more concerned about Dean’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, no one else knew why Dean was absent, either.

After lunch, Charlie pulled him aside. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course.” They would be late for class, but he wanted to know why she looked so worried.

She led him to an out-of-the-way corner. “Cas, what really happened to your face?”

Castiel frowned. “I already told you.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’ve been having a hard time this semester. That period when you wouldn’t talk to anyone, and the drinking . . . not to mention the self-harm.”

Castiel groaned. “I wish Dean hadn’t told you about that.”

“Well, I’m glad he did.” She paused. “You didn’t do it to yourself, did you?”

“No.”

“So what happened?”

Castiel chewed his lip. “I can’t disclose that information.”

“Really?” Castiel gazed at her pointedly, and she sighed. “All right. Fine. Can you tell Dean at least?”

Castiel thought about the matter for a minute. “I think so.”

“You’ll tell him?” Castiel nodded. “Good. And you’ll take care of yourself?”

He attempted to offer a reassuring smile. “I’ll try.”

“That’s the best I’m gonna get out of you, isn’t it?” Castiel didn’t reply, and she sighed again. “Okay. Fine”

At the end of the day, Castiel ventured to Mr. Turner’s classroom so he could make up the test. To his surprise, Mr. Turner interrogated him about the bruise as well. When Mr. Turner wouldn’t accept the sleepwalking explanation, Castiel refused to answer any more of his questions, and Mr. Turner’s eyes lingered sadly on him as he handed him the exam.

Castiel didn’t know how close Mr. Turner was to guessing the truth, but he had to ensure he wouldn’t. If he did, Father might react by doing something unimaginable.

xxxxxxxxxx

Halfway awake, Dean rolled to the other side of the bed, which was empty. He blinked his eyes open. He could’ve sworn he remembered Sammy being here last night, but now there was no sign of him. Must’ve been a dream. Thank God. He’d been having nightmares lately, but last night’s had been the worst by far.

But—

 _Oh_.

He realized the empty side of the bed was faintly warm. Sam _had_ been here.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen, where Sam was eating a bowl of cereal at the table. “Mornin’, squirt,” he mumbled. Sam didn’t complain about being called “squirt,” and now Dean was really worried. He must’ve been really messed up last night.

“Good morning, Dean,” Mom called behind him.

He turned around to face her. “Mornin.’” For some reason, his legs started wobbling, and he couldn’t sustain his weight any longer.

“Dean, you should sit down.”

Dean was about to retort that he was fine, but never mind, that was a lie. He somehow made it to a chair, where he collapsed.

He swiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and thought about the day looming before him. “Mom,” he uttered. “I don’t think I can do it.”

She froze. “Do what, Dean?”

He ground his teeth and swallowed the bile threatening to rise from his throat. “Go to school.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighed. She approached the table and smoothed back Dean’s hair. “It’s okay. Stay home if you need to.”

He tried to smile, but his lips faltered. “Thanks.”

Not long after that, Mom left for the day, taking Sam with her so she could drop him off at school. Dean couldn’t go back to sleep, so he wrapped himself up in a blanket and settled on the couch, staring listlessly at the TV. Some preschool show shit, but he didn’t care.

He jumped when he heard the front door open and close. Footsteps entered the living room, and Dean couldn’t look, afraid of who it might be. He cowered under the blanket. The person sank onto the other side of the couch, and Dean huddled against the armrest.

“Dean?” the individual said.

Dean finally chanced a look at the person. “Mom?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dean shook his head. “’s fine.”

“Can I get you anything?” Dean shook his head, and Mom reclined on the sofa. “You don’t mind if I join you?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Nope. I called in sick.”

Guilt penetrated his gut. Mom was going to miss work, and it was his fault. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Maybe not, but I want to. I could use a break, anyway.”

Mom babied him for the rest of the day. She made him a large breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She even scrounged around in the cabinets to find chocolate chips she could bake into the pancakes. She cooked meatloaf for lunch, and they ate it in the living room while a soap opera played on the TV. Mom commented that it’d been so long since she’d been able to watch one of her soaps in the middle of the day. Dean pretended to hate the program, but he secretly enjoyed it.

A couple hours after Sam finished school, Mom drove them to the therapists’ office for their weekly appointments. She told Dean he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to, but Dean decided he would see Layla. Cas was getting worse, and he needed advice on what to do.

“Good evening, Dean,” Layla said when he entered her office. As usual, she gestured to the overstuffed chair in front of her. “Have a seat.” He sat down; then she asked, “How’re you?”

“Okay,” he rasped after hesitating.

Layla frowned. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m fine.” She still looked unconvinced, and he sighed. “I guess it’s just been a rough coupla days.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” She wouldn’t push him, he knew, and he appreciated that. Otherwise, he would’ve quit coming to this place a long time ago. “But . . . I do wanna talk about Cas.”

“What is it, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes. Talking about it was easier if he didn’t have to keep looking at her. “He’s getting desperate.”

“Has he hurt himself again?”

“No. Um.” His eyes flew open. “Yeah, actually. Just . . . he’s been drinkin’ instead.”

“Drinking? How do you mean?”

“He drank a shit ton of whiskey yesterday. He got in trouble at school for it, and I know his dad probably hurt him because of it . . . ” Dean’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat to prevent himself from sounding too emotional. “I know he’s countin’ the days until he can go to college.” _Days until you won’t get to see him anymore. Shut up. Don’t be a baby about it._ “And yesterday, he said—he said he wasn’t sure if he could wait four more months.”

After a few minutes of silence, Layla said, “May I make a bold suggestion?”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever thought about reporting his dad to Child Protective Services?”

 _Should I? No._ “I can’t. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t trust me anymore.” Fuck. She probably thought he was making excuses. “And sometimes he hurts himself, right? If I’m not there for him, won’t it get worse?”

“The state can get him help.”

“No. I think that would make things worse. I just . . . if I can get him to hang on a little longer.” His heart swelled at the thought of Cas. Cas, at the mercy of strangers from the state, people who probably didn’t really give a fuck. So vulnerable. Cas didn’t confide easily; Dean was lucky Cas told him as much as he did.

Cas’s wide blue eyes flashed before him, followed by Dad’s hateful voice. Dad yelling his contempt, hissing that he would teach him a lesson, and—

“Dean? Are you all right?” Layla asked.

He snapped out of the moment and realized he was shaking. “Uh. Yeah. Dad.” Shit. Why’d he mention that?

“What about your dad?”

“I was remembering . . . ” He licked his lips. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay. How often do you get spells like this?”

“Spells?”

“You seemed to be somewhere else.”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Hmm. Have you ever thought about keeping a journal?”

“Huh?” _Sounds kinda chick-flicky_.

“Sometimes people find writing about their feelings, thoughts, memories . . . therapeutic. I think it might be good for you.”

He immediately got defensive. “Why? So you can read it?”

“No.—”

“’Cause I ain’t showin’ it to you. If I even do it, that is.”

“That is perfectly fine. It’s private. For _you_.”

The next day, Dean finally felt up to going to school. And whaddaya know, he’d been right. Cas had this huge ass bruise on his cheek.

Mr. Novak was getting worse. He talked to Cas about it, but Cas claimed he’d brought it on himself for his “drunken antics.” He hated that Cas thought he’d deserved it.

Dean bought a leather-bound notebook after school. He contemplated confiding in it, but it seemed kind of pathetic.

But that bruise on Cas’s face, the pain Mr. Novak had put him through—

He turned to the first page of the notebook and started writing.

xxxxxxxxxx

Father and Castiel arrived at the KU athletic complex early Saturday morning. There, they met Ms. Mills, who had come to support him during the state fencing championships. Michael would be there later. The first bout was scheduled for a few hours from now, but Castiel needed to begin warming up right away. He must be in peak condition when the first bout commenced.

Fifteen minutes before his match was scheduled to start, he jumped when someone gripped his shoulder. “Hey, you,” a familiar voice said.

Castiel spun around to gape at the speaker. “Dean! You came!”

“’Course I came. It’s in town.”

Castiel removed Dean’s hand and warned, “Be careful. Father is here somewhere.”

Dean took a step back. “Okay.”

Father and Michael materialized a moment later. Father handed him a bottle of Gatorade and asked, “What’s he doing here?”

“Hi, Mr. Novak,” Dean said.

“He came to watch,” Castiel explained.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Michael inquired. Castiel instinctively shied away from him, still unable to look him in the eye after his desperate plea a few days ago. After Michael had refused to help him.

Castiel gestured at Dean. “This is my best friend. Dean.” He turned to his boyfriend. “Dean, this is my oldest brother, Michael.”

Michael held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Ditto,” Dean muttered as he shook Michael’s hand.

After Father and Michael retreated, Dean asked, “Where’s Gabriel?”

“Oh. He does not get along with Father. Or Michael. And if he were here, he and Father would eventually make a scene, so he isn’t coming.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes. But it’s for the best.” Gabriel had actually planned on coming today, but Castiel had implored him not to. He did not think he could cope with the explosive confrontation Gabriel would inevitably have with Father.

The judges called for Castiel and his opponent to hook themselves up to the machine. As the eighth seed, Castiel would face whoever was ranked highest in the state.

He soon discovered that the other boy was a freshman. Short, kind of scrawny. Defeating him should not be too difficult.

 _But he’s the number one seed_ , Castiel reminded himself. _He must be more formidable than he looks._

In order to hydrate himself, Castiel downed half of the contents of his Gatorade bottle before the match commenced.

The other boy expertly ducked Castiel’s opening thrust. He somehow maneuvered the sabre below Castiel’s extended arms and aimed at his torso. The touch landed, and the freshman was awarded the bout’s first point.

As Castiel soon discovered, the kid was agile and quick. He expertly averted Castiel’s swings and parried with his own, which reached their target before Castiel could even discern the sabre’s trajectory.

He was losing 3-0 when they took a hydration break.

The other boy gulped his Gatorade and rubbed his knuckles over his mouth. He turned to Castiel beside him and sneered, “And I thought you were supposed to be legendary.”

No, the little shit had _not_ just said that. Castiel smiled to himself. Dean’s vocabulary seemed to be rubbing off on him.

When the bout resumed, Castiel took his stance with fresh determination. He would show his opponent what real skill looked like.

Castiel used to be as quick as the freshman. Before he’d turned the knife against himself, before Father had decided that almost every offense required punishment. Now, he dug deep within himself to find that quickness, the fencing instincts that used to come so effortlessly to him.

Almost as soon as they’d begun again, Castiel scored a point.

“Fuck, yeah, Cas!” Dean yelled while clapping enthusiastically. The judge reprimanded him for his language, but Castiel was grateful for the outburst. It reminded him that he had someone on his side, and he drew strength from it.

Then four more points in rapid succession, all almost before Castiel had perceived what he’d done. The judge declared him the victor, and his eyes widened.

How did he win so fast?

The freshman sulked as he shook Castiel’s hand. After that, Father and Michael congratulated him. Dean rushed toward him and pulled him into an embrace. “That was awesome, Cas!” he exclaimed in Castiel’s ear.

Castiel extricated himself from Dean and gave him a warning look. His behavior just now had been risky. Father looked askance at them, and Michael seemed bemused. When Michael’s eyes met Father’s, his expression grew vaguely disapproving.

Dean glanced at his watch. “Wanna get lunch?” he asked Cas.

“We’ve already got plans,” Father replied.

“He can come with us,” Michael suggested, voice placating.

“No.”

Castiel breathed an inward sigh of relief. Father and Dean together would be a volatile mix.

“May I eat lunch with Dean instead?” Castiel dared to ask. He wasn’t hopeful about the answer, but he also knew Father wouldn’t make a scene about the request in public.

“No,” Father snapped.

“I don’t want him to eat lunch alone.” Castiel prayed he would accept the excuse.

“Who cares?”

“Father,” Michael inserted, “perhaps he has a point. Eating alone can make anyone feel uncomfortable. We would not wish to inflict that upon Dean.” Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel glimpsed Dean scowling at Michael’s supercilious tone.

“Fine. But you’re eating dinner with us,” Father declared.

Castiel beamed. “Thank you!”

Michael clapped Father on the back. “Come on, Father. Let’s grab a bite to eat.”

“I can’t believe he allowed me to stay with you,” Castiel marveled once Father and Michael were out of sight.

“Probably ’cause of that dick brother of yours.”

“What?”

“Michael. Acts like he’s up your dad’s ass.”

“Yes, sometimes,” Castiel muttered. In the past, he would’ve dismissed Michael as Father’s lackey, too, but now he knew better. He might not stand up to Father as much as Castiel wished, but he wasn’t a complete carbon copy of him. “But he is a good man, Dean.” Dean looked skeptical. “He has interceded with Father on my behalf many times.”

“Maybe he’s not all bad,” Dean acknowledged. “Wanna check out the union?”

“Okay.” The union would of course have many dining choices.

Walking to the union didn’t take that long. There, they surveyed their options. Dean paused beside an establishment called Jayhawks Café. “Dude, this place serves breakfast _all day_!” he exclaimed.

Castiel squinted at the menu. “Yes.” Although why that should matter was beyond him.

“They’re supposed to have these _awesome_ Belgian waffles. Like, they let you put anything on them.”

“Is that what you wish to eat?”

“Yeah.”

At the counter, they each ordered a waffle and a cup of coffee. The café had a bar filled with toppings you could put on your waffle. Castiel approached it first, drizzling a few blueberries over his waffle and pouring on a bit of honey.

“Is that all you’re gonna get?” Dean asked when they reached the end.

Castiel glanced at Dean’s waffle, upon which he’d piled oodles of chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, pecans, cinnamon, sprinkles, hot fudge, caramel, and syrup. The combination looked sickeningly sweet. “No,” he answered, his mouth twisting down in distaste.

“What?”

“That’s so much . . . _stuff_.”

“Which only makes it the bestest waffle ever.” Castiel grimaced. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re missin’.”

They snagged a booth and dug into their waffles. Castiel savored the combination of blueberries and honey with the waffle. “You were right. This is delicious.”

“Coulda been more delicious,” Dean teased. Castiel rolled his eyes fondly. “So. You were pretty awesome back there.”

“Where?”

“That fencing match. You kicked that kid’s ass.”

“I won by only two points, Dean.”

“In an epic comeback.”

Castiel grinned to himself. “It was good, wasn’t it?” For the first time in a while, Castiel experienced a surge of confidence. He was a skillful fencer, so why shouldn’t he win the state championship?

After they finished their meal, they ventured outside. Dean wanted to explore the campus a little, so they strolled on out-of-the-way paths between buildings. In an alley between the dilapidated history building and the high-tech physical science facility, they spotted Meg, of all people.

On her knees in the dirt, her lips around a boy’s penis. The individual was certainly not Crowley. Castiel recognized him as Alastair Heller, a boy two grades above him who’d relished shoving his head into lockers.

Meg and Alastair turned to them, and they froze.

“Oh, my God,” Dean muttered, coloring.

Meg pried her lips off of Alastair’s member and leered at Castiel. “You and your buddy wanna go next, Clarence?”

“Hell, no,” Dean scoffed.

Castiel just stared with wide eyes. Finally, he managed to speak. “No, thank you, Meg. That is all right.”

Alastair snatched Meg’s hair and shoved his penis at her face. “Finish what you started, bitch.” He sounded menacing, and Castiel didn’t know what to do. Should he intervene or leave?

But Meg took his cock into her mouth with obvious enthusiasm. Perhaps he should leave, then.

But he couldn’t move.

Dean grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the scene. “C’mon, Cas.” Meg cackled until the scene was long behind them.

Dean declared, “That was gross.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, I knew that Meg Masters was a twisted chick, but that? Is a whole new level.”

“Do you think she enjoys that?” Castiel mused aloud.

“What?”

“What she was doing.” Castiel flushed. “With Alastair.”

“I mean, she looked like she was enjoying it, didn’t she?”

On the surface, yes. But she’d never actually smiled. He’d met her eyes for a fraction of a second, and they had seemed devoid of life. She seemed to be covering for something, but he couldn’t figure out what.

“How was lunch, Castiel?” Michael asked when they met him and Father back at the athletic complex.

“Good. We had waffles.”

“That’s not lunch food,” Father pointed out.

“But it was good nevertheless. What did you two eat?”

“We just grabbed some salad,” Michael replied.

Castiel donned his suit again and began warming up. This would be a pivotal match. If he won, he would advance to the championship match tomorrow.

He recognized his opponent. A senior like him, and quite formidable. Castiel had faced him a couple of times this season. He’d beat Castiel in all of those bouts, but they’d occurred when Castiel was in poorer form.

He was at the top of his game now, as Dean would say. He could feel it.

At the beginning of the match, he took his stance with confidence.

In almost no time, Castiel had defeated his opponent 5-0.

Ms. Mills, Dean, Michael, and even Father hooted and hollered when Castiel’s victory was announced.

If this streak continued, tomorrow he might finally become the state champion in sabre!

xxxxxxxxxx

On Sunday morning, Dean arrived at KU just in time to watch Cas finish warming up for the championship match. Dean glanced at the opponent, a slim but muscular blonde boy. Most people would probably say he was more handsome than Cas, but he had better taste than that.

Dean approached Cas and clapped him on the shoulder. Cas jumped then spun around to face Dean, his expression wary. When he discovered who was behind him, he smiled self-consciously. “Sorry. You startled me.”

“’S fine. Just wanted to wish you luck.”

“Thanks.” Cas took a deep breath before studying his opponent for a moment.

“You know him?” Dean asked.

“He’s the one who won last year’s championship.”

“The one they gave a touch to when they shouldn’t have?”

Cas’s eyes widened. “You remember that?”

“’Course.”

“I told you that the first time we met.”

“Yeah, back when I thought you might be a douche.” Dean grinned fondly.

“You don’t still think that, do you?” Cas suddenly looked insecure. It broke Dean’s heart that he still doubted how important he was to him.

Dean placed his hand on Cas’s shoulder once again and squeezed it. “’Course not.” He removed his hand. “Now. Go kick some ass.”

“I shall try.”

Dean retreated to the sidelines, where he bumped into Zachariah and Michael Novak. “Um. Hey,” he stammered.

“You and Castiel tend to stand awfully close to each other.” Michael observed.

“So?” _Shut up, asshat._

“Do you not realize that might be improper?”

“You’ve never been a bro kinda guy, have you?”

“That better be all it is,” Mr. Novak muttered darkly.

Thank God Ms. Mills suddenly appeared beside them. He didn’t want to see where that conversation was going.

“Castiel was amazing yesterday,” she commented.

“Yes. He was quite impressive,” Michael agreed.

The judge called for the fencers to take their positions, and everyone fell silent.

As soon as the match began, Cas boldly aimed at the other boy’s chest. He tried to dodge the blow, but he was too slow, and Cas scored the match’s first touch.

Cas was so freakin’ hot like this; Dean had seldom seen him move so athletically. Here, he demonstrated such clear reflexes, his skills highlighting the contours of his lean, well-built body.

 _Shut up_. Dean _so_ didn’t need a boner right now.

The opponent earned the next touch, and the guy grinned like such a smarmy asshole that Dean wanted to punch him.

Cas bounced back quickly, scoring a second and third touch within seconds of each other. The next point went to the other boy after a long exchange of parries. Cas scored as soon as the match recommenced. The opponent got the next point, and another long interval ensued. It ended when Cas earned the bout’s last touch.

Cas 5, Douchenozzle 3.

Holy shit. Cas was the state champion!

Dean whooped in triumph, hurried to Cas’s side, and embraced him. Mr. Novak and Michael approached, and Mr. Novak cleared his throat.

Dean glanced at him and stepped back from Cas. “Um, congratulations. No homo.”

“No homo?” Cas echoed.

“You know. We’re bros, right?”

Cas appeared nonplussed. “I am not your brother.”

Dean chuckled nervously. How had he not taught Cas those terms yet? “C’mon. I gotta take a piss. You look like you do, too.”

“I do?”

God, how dense could Cas get? “Yeah. You wouldn’t want to piss your pants during the awards ceremony, right?”

“Of course not.”

Dean flashed a smile at the older Novaks. “We’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Michael responded.

Dean found a bathroom with one stall and pulled Cas into it.

“Dean, we cannot both utilize—”

“I know,” Dean snapped as he locked the door behind them. “I just wanted to get you alone.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“To congratulate you more, um, properly.”

“How do you me—?” Dean interrupted Cas by leaning in for a kiss. His lips met Cas’s gently, but soon his passion bled through. Cas gave back just as good as he got. Dean pushed him against the sink, and he grimaced. “What’s wrong?”

“The sink is digging into my back,” Cas explained.

“Oh. Well, then.” He hoisted Cas up and seated him on the sink. “You looked so hot out there, Mr. Fencing Champion, you know that?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”

Dean dragged his lips along Cas’s jawline. “Mmm. Yeah. Almost came in my pants.”

“That would have been unfortunate.”

“Yeah.” Dean ran his hands down Cas’s sides before unbuttoning his pants. “Then I might not have gotten to do this.” He drew Cas’s pants down to his ankles and leaned into him, his groin brushing against Cas’s dick. He thrust once against Cas, whose breath hitched. Remembering Cas’s skittishness about sex stuff, he straightened up and asked, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Cas sighed. He rested the back of his head against the mirror, exposing that bewitching neck, and sighed. “Please don’t stop.”

Too bad he couldn’t taste that beautiful neck. He crouched down and pressed his lips to Cas’s thigh. “Good. Consider this your reward.”

“Because you’re getting nothing out of this.”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it.” He flicked his tongue against Cas’s inner thigh before biting softly. Cas whimpered and bucked his hips.

“Mmm. Delicious,” Dean murmured. After he sucked on the bite, his tongue traveled over to Cas’s cock, pressure feather light.

“You know this is ill-advised,” Cas pointed out. “Perhaps we should stop.”

Dean raised his eyes to Cas’s, and _damn_. That thin blue ring surrounding the blown pupil—it left him breathless for a second. So gorgeous. “Is that what you want me to do?” Dean countered.

“No. But Father expects us to return in a timely manner.”

“Hmm. Guess I’ll just have to make this quick.” Dean unbuttoned his jeans before taking Cas’s dick into his mouth. He sucked Cas wholeheartedly while jerking himself frantically, and soon, they were both coming. Dean suckled from Cas until he’d emptied himself into his mouth.

“Wow,” Cas sighed.

“Yeah. Wow,” Dean echoed, standing up. He wiped up his cum from the floor, and they made themselves presentable.

When they returned to the others, the awards ceremony was about to start. The Novaks and Ms. Mills headed for the nearby auditorium, but Dean remained behind.

Cas paused and turned around. “Are you coming?”

“Nah. Gotta take care of something.”

Cas looked puzzled, but Michael pulled him away. Dean whipped out his phone and called up everyone. They were gonna have a celebratory lunch for Cas. Everyone except Andy, whom Dean couldn’t reach, agreed to meet them at Dave & Buster’s.

After Dean had made the arrangements, people began filtering out of the auditorium. Cas stepped out wearing a gold medal and carrying a large trophy shaped like a sabre.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean urged. “We’ve got lunch plans.”

“We do?” Cas replied.

“Yeah.”

“He’s eating lunch with his family,” Mr. Novak asserted.

“We can eat dinner with him, Father,” Michael said. “We should let Castiel eat with his friend.” He lowered his voice and added, “We need to encourage Castiel to spend time with others. It is good for his development.” Jeez, it sounded like he thought Cas was a small child.

“Fine.”

“Where are we going?” Cas asked once they’d settled in the Impala.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Must it be?”

“Yep.”

Cas examined the interior of the restaurant when they walked inside. His eyes alit on the arcade area. “What is this place? Chuck E. Cheese for adults?”

“Sorta.” Where was everybody? Dean slithered in between the tables looking for them.

“Dean? Don’t we need to wait to be seated?” Cas asked.

“Nah, just follow me.” He found their group seated at a large table in the back.

“Congratulations!” they shouted in unison when Cas appeared behind him.

Cas gaped at them. “How did you know?”

“Dean told us,” Charlie answered as he and Dean slid into the booth.

Cas’s eyes watered. “Thank you.”

Anna passed him a menu across the table. “Order what you want. We’re paying.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“But we’re doing it,” Charlie put in.

“And don’t forget dessert,” Jo inserted. “We’re buyin’ you a full meal here.”

“And payin’ for your games,” Benny added.

“Games?” Cas echoed.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see those.”

“I did. But I am not sure if I will know how to play.”

“Then we’ll teach you,” Hannah said.

As they ordered and ate, Dean recounted Cas’s epic fencing matches, and everyone was impressed. As they should be.

While they were waiting for the waitress to return to their table so they could order dessert, Garth abruptly changed the subject. “Dude, isn’t that your dad?”

Garth was gazing at him. Dean blinked. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Yeah.”

Dean looked behind him and, sure enough, there was Dad, eating a burger alone. His movements were slightly uncoordinated, and his eyes were red. Clearly, he’d been drinking. After he’d been staring for a minute, Dad’s eyes met his, and Dean turned back around. “So?”

“Maybe you should say hi?”

“What’s goin’ on with your parents, anyway?” Jo inquired. “I know they’re separated, but why?”

“So they can get a divorce.”

“Duh. But why do they want a divorce?”

“Why does anyone want a divorce?” Dean retorted.

“Hey, no need to jump down her throat, brotha,” Benny interjected. “It was just a question.”

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “It’s just personal. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But you can still say hi to your dad,” Garth insisted.

Dean flashed back to Dad’s hands on him, undoing his jeans, forcing himself onto Dean—

“You okay?” Charlie asked.

Dean snapped back to reality and nodded. “Yeah.” He stood up. “I gotta go.” He couldn’t stay here. He could feel Dad’s eyes on him, following his every action, expectant.

“What? Why?” Jo said.

“Just do.” He spun around and strode toward the door.

“What was that all about?” he heard Anna ask behind him.

“It is no concern of yours,” Cas replied protectively.

As the door swung shut behind him, Dean smiled to himself. He could always count on Cas to have his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the fencing scenes were anticlimactic. Obviously, I know little about fencing. I know nothing about KU's campus, either, so consider the one here a fictional version. Finally, there's no Dave & Buster's in Lawrence, but the Lawrence here is fictional, so I decided including it was okay.
> 
> I estimate that there are four chapters left in the fic, more or less. As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome! :)


	28. Invitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for homophobic slurs, child abuse, and flashbacks involving sexual abuse.
> 
> This is mostly a bridge to the next chapter--prom! I estimate that there are about four more chapters left in the story, including that one. 
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading, and feedback is welcome!

Even though Dean had left early yesterday, Castiel had still enjoyed himself at Dave & Buster’s. He understood why Dean had fled. It had taken a great deal of strength not to confront Mr. Winchester about what he’d done to Dean. Even if he hadn’t had enough self-control to contain himself, his fear of Dean’s dad was enough in and of itself to hold him back.

Gabriel occasionally liked to visit arcades, so Castiel had picked up on how to play many of the games fairly quickly. When he had encountered games that puzzled him, the others had patiently explained the rules to him.

While Castiel had had fun, he’d still worried about Dean the whole time. He’d called Dean afterward. Dean had claimed to be fine, but he’d sounded so exhausted that Castiel couldn’t help but feel morose all night.

Now, as he waited for Dean to arrive at school, a ruckus flared up nearby. He turned to see what the conflict was about and was confronted by a sight that made him uneasy.

Crowley shoved Meg against the brick wall. “You little slut!” he screeched.

Meg smirked. “Thought that’s what you liked about me.”

He grabbed a swath of her hair and pulled it back. Meg attempted to maintain her composure, but a barely perceptible flinch gave away her nervousness. Crowley traced her top lip with his index finger. “Oh, I won’t deny that I’m kinky as hell. But when you’re with me, sweetheart, you are _mine_!”

“And I am,” Meg professed.

Crowley tilted his head mockingly. “Hmm. And I heard you spent all weekend sucking off Alastair Heller.”

Oh, yes. Castiel remembered it now. Crowley and Alastair were friends.

Meg shrugged. “Didn’t know we were exclusive.”

“That’s what all mine means, you dumb bitch!” Crowley slapped her, and Meg’s head recoiled against the wall. Castiel winced in sympathy. That had looked painful. Crowley struck Meg again, and Castiel grew angry. Why was the crowd just idly standing by? Meg had always been something of a wild card, beloved by none, not even her fellow goths, yet pursued by many popular boys.

Yet she didn’t deserve to be beaten like this. Someone had to intercede.

Castiel strode toward Crowley and growled, “Leave her alone.”

“Her knight in shining armor, are you?” Crowley sneered.

“Go away, Clarence,” Meg intoned.

“Clarence, huh? What’s that, some pet name? You give this geek a blow job, too?” He hit Meg again, producing a bubble of blood on her bottom lip.

“Stop it,” Castiel demanded again.

“Lookin’ for more of what you got on Halloween, huh?” Crowley turned to fully face Castiel. “I never got back at you for that, did I?” He balled his hand into a fist and swung at Castiel. Startled, he clutched at his nose. Crowley aimed for his face again, but he ducked out of the way this time. He kicked at Crowley’s knee, and Crowley toppled to the ground.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Crowley hissed through clenched teeth. He kneed Castiel in the groin, and he fell to the concrete, doubling over in pain. Crowley crawled toward him and wrapped his hands around his neck.

“You’re going to kill him!” Meg shrieked.

“Good thing no one will miss the little shit.”

“Hey, douchebag!” a new party shouted. Benny stepped into view and snatched Crowley away by his lapels. “Don’t you dare mess with my friends.” Crowley was no match for the burly Benny, and several bruises materialized on his skin.

But just as Benny had almost incapacitated Crowley, yet another person appeared. Gordon, who pulled Benny off of Crowley. Caught off guard, Benny stumbled, and Gordon gained the upper hand.

“Get off my boyfriend!” Jo screeched. She head butted Gordon, and he turned his attention to her. Jo clutched at her head. “That wasn’t such a good idea, was it?”

“Hey!” Mr. Turner barked. Why had it taken so long for a teacher to arrive? Mr. Turner gazed at the students involved in the melee. “You lot. Masters, Crowley, Novak, Lafitte, Harvelle, Walker. Principal’s office. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel answered. Crowley snickered at him.

Mr. Turner escorted them to Mr. Henriksen’s office then whispered something in the principal’s ear. Mr. Henriksen nodded, and Mr. Turner departed.

“Now. What’s this I hear about a fight?”

Jo pointed at Crowley. “He started it.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“It ain’t his fault,” Gordon asserted.

Everyone else seemed poised to talk, but Mr. Henriksen held up a hand. “Don’t speak all at once.” He paused. “Let’s see. Who among you would be the most credible.” He contemplated the matter for a minute. “Mr. Novak. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

“Why him?” Gordon sulked. Mr. Henriksen glared at him, and Gordon clamped his mouth shut.

Mr. Henriksen steepled his fingers. “Mr. Novak. I’m waiting.”

“Oh. Um,” Castiel mumbled as he gathered his words. “Crowley attacked Meg, and I tried to stop him. He turned on me, and that’s when Benny intervened. Gordon attacked him, so Jo joined in.”

“He’s a liar!” Gordon exclaimed.

“Hold your tongue, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Henriksen ordered. He sighed. “I’m disappointed in you. Each of you. You’re all to report here at 8:00 a.m. sharp Saturday morning for detention.” He waved a hand at the group of students. “You’re dismissed.”

“Saturday detention, like _The Breakfast Club_?” Castiel wondered aloud as they left the principal’s office. When his friends had introduced him to the movie, he’d found it charming.

“This ain’t gonna be nothin’ like _The Breakfast Club_ , brotha,” Benny replied. Behind them, Crowley and Gordon tittered.

“So, I heard there was a fight before school,” Dean said at lunch. “And Cas, Benny, Jo—y’all were involved?”

“Yeah,” Jo answered. “It’s kinda hard to explain.”

“For some reason, Cas thought he should get involved in an argument between Crowley and Meg,” Benny added.

Castiel paid little attention to their words. He’d spotted Meg sitting alone on the other side of the cafeteria, and he observed a few people occasionally stopping to point at her and laugh.

“Cas?” Dean ventured.

Surely she didn’t like sitting alone? He remembered when he’d eaten lunch by himself, and he infinitely preferred spending the time with friends. Before he could change his mind, he strode toward her.

“Cas?” Dean called behind him. “Where’re you goin’?”

Castiel perched on a seat next to Meg. “Hello, Meg.”

Meg blinked at him in confusion. “Clarence? What’re you doin’ here?”

“Would you like to sit with me and my friends?”

Meg glanced at the group. “Nah. They hate me.”

“That’s not true.” He felt bad about lying, but perhaps if they talked to Meg when she wasn’t being hostile, they might start to like her. “They wouldn’t mind.”

“Only because they wouldn’t wanna say no to you.” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Meg continued, “It’s okay, Clarence. It’s sweet of you to ask. But I like being alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded toward his group of friends. “Go.”

“I can stay here with you.”

“I said I liked bein’ alone, didn’t I?” Her flat tone wasn’t convincing, though.

“Okay. But if you change your mind.—”

“Go.”

“All right.” He stood up. “Good-bye, Meg.”

“What was that all about?” Dean asked when Castiel returned to his friends.

“I thought Meg might want to join us,” Castiel answered.

Dean coughed on his sip of soda. “You serious? You wanted her to _sit with us_?”

“Why not?’

“Um. ’Cause she’s a bitch?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s true. I think much of her behavior is a defense mechanism.”

“For what?” Castiel shrugged.

“She can actually be nice sometimes,” Garth put in. Everyone turned startled faces toward Garth. He was often a target of bullies, and no one would deny that Meg could periodically act like a bully. Why would he, of all people, defend Meg?

Garth blushed. He spoke so softly that everyone else strained to hear him. “You remember that stunt Lilith pulled at prom last year?” The others nodded, but Castiel didn’t know the particulars, only that it’d been something cruel. He probably shouldn’t ask for the details right now, however. Maybe Dean would tell him later. “You know how she and her friends put those pictures up everywhere?” The others nodded again. “Well, you know who took them down?”

“The principal?” Charlie guessed.

“No. She didn’t see me but . . . when no one else was around, I saw her. Meg. Ripping them off the walls and tearing them up.”

“Wow,” Hannah breathed.

“Yeah.”

After fencing, Castiel finally asked Dean, “What exactly did Lilith do to Garth during last year’s prom?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Dean replied. Castiel nodded. “Last year, Garth had this huge crush on Lilith, right?” Castiel nodded again. “We tried to tell him she was no good, but you know Garth. He likes to think the best of everybody.”

“Yes.”

“So. She asked him to the prom, and he accepted. We all knew it had to be a trap of some kind, but he didn’t listen to us. So Lilith and her friends showed up at his house on prom night. They ripped off his clothes and spray painted his whole body in different colors, wrote names like ‘loser’ and shit, and took pictures. Pictures which they put up around the school.”

Castiel paused and gaped at Dean. “How can anyone be so cruel?” People pulled such pranks in those teenage movies Castiel had watched with his friends, but he’d always thought they exaggerated what happened in real life.

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Some people are just heartless bastards, I guess.”

As Castiel had predicted, Mr. Henriksen had told Father about the morning’s fracas. Which meant punishment, of course. Seven blows on the butt with the switch—a sentence that was actually milder than others had been lately. Castiel bore it stoically, hoping that an appearance of acceptance would prompt Father to maintain his softer mood. Besides, if he wanted to rebel without provoking further wrath from Father, he needed to be discreet.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean brought his journal to the next therapy appointment. Maybe he could show Layla things he couldn’t say out loud.

Actually, he didn’t want her to read any of that crap, but it was agonizing being at the center of the whirlwind alone. He didn’t want to share everything with Cas; he had his own issues to deal with. Not to mention that one of the things Dean wrote the most about _was_ Cas.

“Good evening, Dean,” Layla greeted him as he nervously sank into a chair. “How are you this evening?”

Dean shrugged. “Okay.”

Layla’s eyes darted to the leather-bound tome then back up to Dean’s eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

“Um.” Dean cleared his throat and averted his gaze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She would think he was disgusting, right? He shouldn’t let her in that much. She’d only let him down. It was all stuff he should keep to himself.

But keeping it to himself was driving him crazy.

Before he could change his mind, he thrust the journal at Layla and murmured, “Here.”

“What’s this?” she asked.

Dean scratched his head. “Yeah. You said somethin’ about writin’ in a journal, right?” She nodded. “So I gave it a go.” He paused. “Flip to the page with the sticky note.”

With two fingers, Layla grasped the red tab sticking out of the journal and began reading the stream of consciousness flow. Dean knew the words by heart; they’d branded themselves into his mind. He closed his eyes, mentally reciting the words he’d written.

_Cas hasn’t hurt himself lately thank God but I can’t help wondering. What if he’s hiding it from me? His dad hit him he has this huge ass bruise on his face it’s getting worse his dad’s never done anything so visible before. Well there were his hands after Halloween but Cas somehow came up with a plausible excuse for that. Didn’t fool me, of course. He says he ran into the wall while sleepwalking but I don’t think anyone believes his B.S. story. But no one wants to think it was Mr. Novak. He can be a tight ass but he is a respectable guy. He’s a teacher and he doesn’t seem that violent at school._

_I came home and cried and cried like a stupid little girl. Cas really thought he’d deserved it because he’d gotten extremely drunk but why did he get drunk? His fuckin dad of course. It’s all his dad’s fault._

++++++++++

_Cas won the state championship. Obviously. The dude’s lethal with a sabre. It’s ridiculously hot. He’s ridiculously hot. Moving so agilely, those snug pants hugging his calves._

_I’d never thought I’d enjoy staring at a guy more than I ever liked looking at any girl._

_But it’s not just his body I like, though of course it’s amazing. There’s his big blue eyes that never get old. Like, sometimes they still take my breath away. That’s some girly shit right there but it’s true. That awesome head of brown hair, so soft, I never get tired of running my hands through it._

_But little things too. Like his smile. It’s like it’s barely there and most people probably can’t even tell he’s smiling. But I can. I can read him better than I can read myself, I think._

_The way he furrows his brow when he’s confused, his whole body somehow echoing the motion. The glow his eyes get when he’s happy._

_His smile. I wish he’d smile more often._

_So I blew Cas in the bathroom afterward. It still blows my mind that he trusts me so much he’d let me do that. He used to be afraid of anything sexual but he’s been coming around. I don’t think he’s like normal people when it comes to sex and shit. Not like he’s a freak or anything but I don’t know. Sex isn’t as big of a deal to him as most people._

_I didn’t think about him at the time but then I saw Dad at Dave & Buster’s. Course he had to be there to remind me I don’t deserve to be happy._

_I thought about what I’d done in the bathroom and Dad, and when I got home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.—_

_Like—_

_I don’t want to think about that fucking thing with Dad every time I feel like doing something sexual. Especially with Cas._

_But I couldn’t get it out of my head._

_The taste of him on my tongue, how my body responded to him even though I tried to make it stop._

_Him calling me a fag telling me I’m disgusting. Because I am._

_Not because of anything to do with Cas though Dad thinks that._

_Because I came with Dad there because I made him come too._

_Oh God. Shut up shut up shut up._

_How can I make it go away?_

_It’ll never go away. I can’t live with this. It’s going to kill me, I know it._

_And I’m so fuckin sick that even with all this shit I still want to have sex with Cas._

_Even with what Dad did. How can I want that?_

_I’m so dirty._

_Sometimes I think I should die._

_But I can’t do that to Cas. Or Sammy._

_And Dad he saw right through me how terrible I really am. That’s why he was always so hard on me. Being with a boy was just the last straw in a long string of disappointments._

_He knew as soon as I was born, he must’ve_.

 _Dammit I don’t wanna feel ashamed of wanting Cas_.

“Dean,” Layla pronounced, disrupting the litany cycling through Dean’s mind. A few tears escaped from his eyes when he forced them open. Layla’s eyes were wet. “I’m sorry.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I just . . . I needed someone to know.” He tapped his fingers against his elbows. “I feel like I’m gonna explode with it sometimes.”

“You have to know that none of this—what your father . . . it’s not your fault.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what Mom says. But I dunno. I just. Something about me made him do it. I just wish I knew what it was.” He rubbed his eyes.

“No, Dean. It’s not you. It’s him.”

Dean snorted. “More clichés, Layla?” he muttered halfheartedly.

“He _is_ the adult. He controlled the situation.”

“Like what Cas said, right? It was about power.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean thought about Layla’s words that night. He was embarrassed that he’d revealed so much to her earlier, but he’d had so much pressure in his head that he’d had to do _something_. It had deflated when Layla had started reading.

It was nice to have more solid confirmation of what Cas had told him.

Still, showing her the journal had probably been a mistake.

xxxxxxxxx

After English, Castiel and Dean trudged over to Castiel’s locker so he could grab a few textbooks he needed to take home. Amongst his paraphernalia, Castiel discovered a small blank manila envelope. It bore an elegant red seal, formed in the image of angel wings. The seal was so lovely that he didn’t want to damage it, so he painstakingly detached the envelope flap, taking care not to rip the seal.

Inside he discovered a card, its words written in elegant script.

_Dear Cas,_

_Will you go to prom with me, babe?_

Underneath the message were two boxes next to two options, yes and no.

It was just like one of those teenage movies his friends had shown him. And the handwriting was gorgeous . . . Dean had become wonderfully adept at calligraphy. It still heartened Castiel that Dean had liked his Christmas present so much.

“What’s that you got there, Cas?” Dean asked with forced nonchalance from behind him.

Castiel dug a pen out of his backpack and checked the yes box. He smiled to himself and held out the missive toward Dean. “Here.”

Dean grabbed the note, glanced down at it, and beamed. No, he more than beamed, he _glowed_ , and Castiel felt a strange warmth flare up in his heart.

“Awesome!” Dean exclaimed.

A practical consideration cut into Castiel’s bliss. “But we cannot really go together. What about Father?”

“The whole world doesn’t hafta know we’re together. We’ll say we’re goin’ stag. Anna and Hannah will come with us, too, so we can make that sound convincing.”

That made sense. Neither Anna nor Hannah would have procured a date. “What about Charlie?” he wondered. She currently wasn’t seeing anyone.

“She says she already has a date.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that. “Who?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Says it’s a surprise.”

“Oh.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see you in a tux, man. Bet you’ll look hot as fuck.”

Castiel flushed. He held no illusions about his attractiveness; he would never look better than Dean in any outfit. “I look forward to seeing you wear a tuxedo,” he countered.

Dean laughed and started walking toward fencing class. Giddy, Castiel smiled to himself as he caught up.

As a loner, Castiel had never thought he would go to prom. It hadn’t bothered him, but now he was fiercely looking forward to the occasion.

Because he would be with Dean.

Beautiful, wonderful, caring, clever Dean.

xxxxxxxxxx

Detention on Saturday morning was definitely not something Castiel had been looking forward to. However, it did mean that he wouldn’t have to prepare breakfast for Father, and that was a small consolation.

Father’s drive to the school had been disrupted by a train, so Castiel arrived five minutes late. Mr. Henriksen scolded him for his tardiness before ordering him to take a seat. He scanned the dingy classroom, his eyes pausing when he spotted his two friends, Benny and Jo. Unfortunately, every desk near them was occupied.

“Mr. Novak?” Mr. Henriksen prompted.

The only free seat he could find was beside Meg. She raised her eyebrows at him suggestively, and he grew nervous. He finally deposited himself in the seat next to her.

“Hey there, Clarence,” she muttered.

“Silence!” Mr. Henriksen boomed, and Meg flinched. “There will be no talking. This is not a social gathering, Ms. Masters. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered promptly. Mr. Henriksen’s authoritativeness appeared to have made her uncharacteristically obedient.

“Now. You may work on school assignments. That is all.”

A girl raised her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Levitt?” Mr. Henriksen called.

“What if I don’t have any homework to do?”

“Then you can sit there.”

“Can I read my book?”

“No. If you wish, I can assign you work.”

“That’s not fair,” the girl sulked.

“Detention is not meant to serve as entertainment, Ms. Levitt.”

Castiel pulled out his English notebook and started scribbling notes for his project with Dean. It was due Monday, and they were going to finish it together tomorrow afternoon. Brainstorming would definitely be a wise way to utilize his time. When he finished with that task, he moved on to other homework.

Detention ended at noon. Castiel settled on a bench near the school’s entrance and waited for Father to arrive. Benny and Jo offered him a ride home, but since Father had already planned on coming, he regretfully declined. The other students gradually left until Castiel was alone with Meg. He checked his watch and frowned. Father was uncharacteristically late.

A disheveled woman with stringy brown hair stumbled toward the school. Meg jumped to her feet and rushed toward her. “Mom!” she exclaimed. “What’re you doing? Where’s the car?”

“Your dad took away my keys.” The woman hiccupped. She tapped a cut on her forehead. “When he gave me this.”

“Have you been drinking?” Meg demanded. “Dammit, you have.”

Mrs. Masters dragged her by the hair. “Don’t talk to your mom like that, you little whore,” she snapped.

“How’re we getting home? How’d you even get here?”

“Bus,” she rasped. She released her daughter’s hair and said, “Come on.” She turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

“If you ever tell anyone about this, Clarence, I’ll kill you,” Meg hissed at him.

As Meg’s figure receded, Castiel thought he understood her a little better now. She had not one abusive parent, but two. He empathized with the pain she was enduring.

Father’s car appeared five minutes later. Castiel slid into the passenger seat and ventured, “Did you know that detention ended at twelve?”

“Of course,” Father replied. “You deserved to wait.”

That was rather rude, but it was hardly the worst thing Father had ever inflicted upon him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean shut his English binder and sighed in relief. He and Cas had just completed everything for their English project. Charlie and Hannah had finished their work for the class long ago, and they were chattering excitedly about their prom dresses. Well, Charlie was chattering excitedly, anyway. It sounded like she had some nerdtastic outfit planned.

He took a sip from Cas’s caramel macchiato, and Cas scowled at him. “What?” Dean grunted.

“You refused to order anything but regular coffee because lattes are ‘girly drinks.’ And now you’re drinking mine?”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, it tastes better.”

“You can be so illogical, Dean.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was talkin’ to Mr. Spock here.”

Cas smiled, clearly proud that he understood Dean’s reference. Because Dean and Charlie had introduced him to _Star Trek_ , obviously.

“Guess we better go find the kiddos.” Sam, Jess, and Kevin had chosen to sit in a different section of the Barnes and Noble since Sam was worried that Dean might watch his every move.

The others waited in the Starbucks area while Dean searched for the freshmen. He spotted them in the children’s section, freezing when he noticed Ruby standing next to their table. As he approached them, he could hear her speak.

“I can’t believe you chose these freaks over me,” Ruby spat at Sam. She turned to Jess. “Bet you don’t know what he’s really like. The things he likes to do in—well, you know.” She bent down and whispered something in Jess’s ear, and Jess paled.

Dean clenched his fists, incensed about the no doubt scandalizing behavior Ruby had initiated Sam into.

Just as he was about to shout at Ruby to leave, Lilith appeared by her sister’s side. “What’re you doin’ talking to these geeks? Do you _want_ to commit social suicide?” She pulled her sister away from the table.

Dean decided not to bring Ruby up for now. “You ready to go?” he asked them. Jess and Kevin nodded, but Sam was staring at something over Dean’s shoulder. “Sammy?’

Sam hopped off the chair and dashed away. “Hey, what the hell, Sammy? Where you goin’?”

Near the bargain books, Dean discovered what had captured Sam’s attention. Dad sprawled in an overstuffed chair. _Not again_. Seeing him felt like a punch to the gut.

Sam pointed a finger at Dad’s chest. “I don’t know what the hell you did to Dean,” he railed, “but you fucking _broke him_ , Dad.”

“Did you know he was a fag, Sammy?” Dad sneered. Sam gazed back at him with steely eyes. “You did, huh? Yet you would defend him?”

“You hurt my brother,” Sam replied, voice low and dangerous.

“I was just teachin’ him a lesson.”

“ _You_. _Are_. _A. Monster_.” Dean got chills just listening to Sam say those words. Dude might be a little squirt, but Dean wouldn’t bet against him like this. “I hope you rot in hell.”

Dean finally peeked out from behind a shelf of books. “Hey, Sammy,” he rasped, eyes darting everywhere but still unable to avoid Dad. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, Dean-o,” Dad said. He sounded so friendly, and it pricked something in Dean’s heart. This guy was his dad, and he did love him. All he’d ever wanted was for Dad to smile at him with warm brown eyes, the eyes he reserved for Mom and Sam, and say, “I’m proud of you, Dean-o.”

But then he flashed back to Dad trapping him against the wall, stripping him of his jeans, his dignity—

He grabbed Sam’s wrist. “C’mon, Sammy.” They returned to Kevin and Jess.

As he drove out of the parking lot with the freshmen and Cas, Dean replayed Sam’s confrontation with Dad. Sam defending him so fiercely, the faith he must have in Dean.

Touching, if misplaced.


	29. Tessellate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the alt-J song.
> 
> Warning for sexual content and homophobic slurs.

Castiel rushed to the front door when he heard the bell ring. On his way, he yelled good-bye to Father in the living room. When he reached the door, though, he suddenly grew anxious. What if Dean thought he looked hideous? What if the whole evening turned out to be a disaster?

He took a deep breath, smoothed his hair down once again, and stepped outside. The sun dappled Dean’s blonde hair with speckles of gold. His green eyes shone with the same unearthly brilliance, and it took Castiel’s breath away.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean mumbled, uncharacteristically shy. He proferred a nervous grin and ruffled Castiel’s hair. “Mess that up a little, will ya? Yeah, that’s better.”

“And to think I spent so long agonizing over it,” Castiel drawled.

“Hey, I fuckin’ love your hair. ’Specially like that.”

Castiel scanned the rest of Dean’s body, the immaculate cut of the tuxedo he was sporting. It emphasized his musculature impeccably. “You look very handsome, Dean,” Castiel said, feeling his cheeks redden.

Dean flushed. “Thanks.” Glinting with pleasure, his eyes tracked over Castiel’s body. “That suit hits you in all the right places.” He asked skeptically, “Your dad buy that for you?”

“No.” They probably shouldn’t linger in front of the house. Father might wonder why they were staring at each other for so long. Castiel began walking toward Dean’s house, and Dean followed. “Michael did.”

“Michael? The douchebag brother?”

“He’s not a douchebag, Dean.” True, Castiel still resented Michael for not helping him escape Father, but he wasn’t a bad person. And he’d done everything he could to guarantee Castiel enjoyed the prom. “And guess what?” he added excitedly.

“What?”

“I can stay out all night.” In fact, Michael had encouraged Castiel to stay out all night and “have a good time.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to stay at Gabriel’s ’til the end of the school year.”

“I’m not. But Michael said I could pretend I’m staying at his house. I can spend the night with you, and in the morning, you can drop me off at Michael’s.” The arrangement had taken a lot of wrangling from Michael. Father preferred to supervise his time with Michael, no doubt because it also extended his control over the eldest brother. With regard to the prom, Michael had appealed to Father’s desire to seem normal to the outside world. Most high school students stayed out late on prom night, he’d said, so why shouldn’t Castiel? He’d be happy to let Castiel come over. After all, he knew Father liked to go to bed early.

“You want to spend all night with me?” Dean replied.

Castiel stopped in his tracks. Had that been a presumptuous plan? “Yes. Although I suppose I do not have to—”

“No, I’d fuckin’ love that, Cas!” Dean threw an arm around his shoulders as they strolled up the Winchesters’ driveway, where Anna’s black Honda Accord was already parked. “I was hopin’ for that, actually.”

It suddenly occurred to Castiel that he’d never actually spent the night at Michael’s. Father had never wanted Castiel to do so, but Michael had also never fought him on the issue. He filed away that troubling realization for later. Right now, he really did want to try to enjoy himself.

Inside, they found Mrs. Winchester, Anna, and Hannah standing in the kitchen drinking tea.

“Castiel!” Mrs. Winchester exclaimed. “My, don’t you look handsome.”

Castiel blushed, “Thank you, Mrs. Winchester.” He examined Hannah and Anna. Hannah was wearing a conventional green dress, while Anna wore a cobalt blue one that brought out her hair’s fiery hue.

Mrs. Winchester picked up a camera lying on the countertop. “How about we go outside and take some pictures? It’s a lovely day.”

“That sounds great, Mrs. Winchester,” Anna responded.

In the backyard, Mrs. Winchester fixated on a large oak tree. “Dean. Castiel.” She waved her hand in the tree’s direction. “Why don’t you go stand over there?” Dean and Castiel obeyed, and Mrs. Winchester smiled. “I think we’ll get some amazing pictures of you two.”

Dean threw his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and Mrs. Winchester snapped a few pictures. Eventually, Castiel tugged Dean’s hand down and laced their fingers together. Dean gazed at him with undisguised affection, and Castiel grinned. Feeling daring, he brought Dean’s hand to his lips, brushing his knuckles with them as Mrs. Winchester caught the moment on camera. Dean looked momentarily startled by Castiel’s gesture, but a second later he pulled Castiel upright and kissed him. Castiel leaned into it, gladly allowing Dean to devour his mouth. They jerked away from each other when a chorus of “awwws” resounded behind them.

“Hey, Mrs. Winchester, can you get some pics with Hannah and me?” Anna asked tentatively.

“Sure,” Mrs. Winchester answered.

Anna and Hannah joined Dean and Castiel beside the tree, and they tried out various poses together. After a while, Dean and Castiel retreated so that Mrs. Winchester could capture a few pictures of just Anna and Hannah. At first, their poses were rather innocent: Anna draped an arm around Hannah’s shoulders, but then Anna cupped Hannah’s chin and gazed deeply into her eyes. Then she pecked Hannah on the lips, remaining frozen in position while Mrs. Winchester captured the moment.

“What the hell?” Dean commented. Anna and Hannah giggled nervously, and Dean scratched his head. “I’m lost.”

Castiel slowly recognized what the girls’ behavior indicated. “Anna, Hannah, are you two . . . ?”

“Together, yes,” Anna replied. Hannah blushed.

“How—?” Dean blurted.

“Don’t worry. You haven’t been missing anything.”

“It’s our first date,” Hannah squeaked.

“So you’re more than friends now,” Dean mused.

“Yes. I think we’ve had . . . feelings . . . for each other for a while now. It was confusing. Hannah is my best friend, and I always thought she was like a sister. But then one day I realized what I was feeling, it wasn’t like a sister.” She flushed. “But then I didn’t want to make things awkward with Hannah—”

“But I can read her better than I can read myself,” Hannah continued, ducking her head in a characteristic display of shyness. “I knew something was bothering her, and I made her to tell me about it.”

“I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

“Wow,” Dean breathed.

“Well, I think you two look adorable,” said Mrs. Winchester. She turned to her son and Castiel. “As do you boys.”

Mrs. Winchester promised to give everyone copies of the photos once she’d developed them; then the teenagers left for dinner. They’d made reservations at a new restaurant called Glazierie.

The exterior appeared to be made of solid glass, as did the tables. The wooden floors were impeccably polished, and the chairs were filled with white cushions. It felt like sitting on a firm cloud.

After the waiter seated them, Dean murmured, “Shit, I feel like I’m gonna break somethin’ in here.” The others giggled.

“Oh, I understand the name of this establishment,” Castiel realized.

“Yeah?”

“A glazier works with glass.”

They ordered a cheese tray as an appetizer, and it arrived along with their drinks. Where was Charlie? She was supposed to meet them here with her date.

When Charlie arrived, everyone did a double take.

Her date was a _boy_.

And not just any boy. Garth.

 _Garth_.

Garth, who’d been avoiding all school functions after last year’s prom.

“Hey, everybody,” Garth greeted them as he adjusted his loose suit.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Are you with each other? Like, on a date?” Anna marveled.

“Yep,” Charlie replied.

“Well, she’s not with _with_ me,” Garth added. Cas raised an eyebrow. “I mean. We’re not _together_. Like dating for real. Just here together.”

“Oh,” Dean muttered. He clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “Good to know. Didn’t think I’d see Charlie batting for the other team before the world ended.”

“Ha ha,” Charlie mumbled sarcastically.

Castiel studied Charlie’s yellow dress. It looked awfully familiar.

“Is that—?” Castiel began.

“Yep!” Dean chimed in. “Charlie decided to wear Belle’s dress from _Beauty and the Beast_. The nerd.”

Anna elbowed her. “Yeah. Didn’t know this was a costume party.”

“Shut up,” Charlie replied. “Y’all are just jealous ’cause my outfit’s awesome.”

“Yes, it is,” Hannah conceded.

“So, Charlie, you still goin’ to Stanford?” Dean prompted. Castiel’s stomach sank. _College_. He still hadn’t decided where he was going. All of his choices were far from here, far from Dean. He didn’t want to leave Dean. The thought made his heart hurt.

“Yep.”

“Oh,” Castiel interjected, “I was considering going to Stanford.”

“Oooh, you should come! We could be college besties!”

Castiel chewed his lip. “Perhaps. I am also contemplating Yale.”

“Yale, schmale.”

“Where are you going, Anna?”

“Me?” Anna echoed. “Oh. Um. Hannah and I are going to Rhodes College.”

Their food arrived. Dean complained about the minuscule portions, but they all agreed that the everything was good.

Before they left, they argued over payment. Dean wanted to pay for everybody, but the others believed everyone should pay for themselves. When the waitress came to collect their money, Dean preempted everyone by handing her the full amount. The others griped about it, but they could do nothing to alter what’d happened.

At school, when they stepped into the gym, Dean glanced at the decorations and snorted.

“What?” Castiel prompted.

“Heaven and hell? Really? That’s what they went with?”

One half of the gym was decorated with cardboard cutouts of flames and devils while the other contained clouds, angels, golden harps, and stars. “It is somewhat . . . uninspired,” Castiel conceded.

“And it looks cheap as hell,” Dean added.

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” Charlie inserted, waggling her eyebrows. Hannah and Anna giggled.

Dean, Anna, Charlie, and Garth left to grab punch, and Castiel turned to Hannah. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Hannah answered.

He was curious about how Hannah and Anna had decided they were more than friends, but would asking about the matter be rude? Hopefully not. “So. You decided to come to prom with Anna.”

“Yes.”

Castiel remembered a conversation he’d had with Hannah during homecoming. “You told me once that you thought you might be asexual.”

“Yes.”

“So . . . how come you . . . with Anna?” _Well, I certainly phrased that smoothly_.

“Asexual doesn’t mean aromantic.”

“What does aromantic mean?”

“It means you don’t feel romantic attraction. That I do feel, but sexual attraction . . . I don’t.”

“But doesn’t Anna?”

“Yes. But she’s been wonderfully understanding. Charlie helped us figure it out. She explained the sexuality spectrum to us and the difference between sexual and romantic attraction.”

“Ah.”

The others returned with their punch. Dean handed Castiel a cup, took a sip of punch, and grimaced. “Shit. No one's gotten around to spiking it yet.”

“Do people really do that?” Castiel inquired. That seemed to be another ritual prominently featured in teenager movies.

“Sure they do.” Dean gulped more punch; then his features softened. “Actually, I like this just fine as it is.” He gave Castiel a look he couldn’t decipher.

After Castiel finished his punch, he decided to search for a bathroom. When he finished in the restroom and returned to the desolate hallway, he observed Meg loitering with Alastair several feet away from him. She wore a long black dress, and his tuxedo seemed rather shabby. Alastair had pinned Meg against a locker, his leg thrust between two of hers. Groaning, he ground against her, and she licked her lips. Their mouths locked in a filthy kiss. They appeared to be enjoying it, but when he caught a glimpse of Meg’s eyes, they looked empty. Alastair’s eyes met his, and he flinched. Alastair jumped away from Meg and glared at him. “What’re ya lookin’ at, you pervert?”

“N . . . nothing,” Castiel stammered.

Alastair leapt toward Castiel and banged his head against a nearby locker. Chilling eyes met his. “Liar.”

Meg inched toward them. “Leave him alone, Alastair.”

“Why? Who gives a shit about this little nerd?”

“Alastair.” Meg tugged at his sleeve. “C’mon.” Alastair swatted her hand away and stalked outside. Meg sighed.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured.

Meg waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry he’s such a jackass.”

Castiel squinted in confusion. “You don’t like him?”

“Hell no.”

“Then why did you bring him as your date?”

Meg shrugged. “It’s all I’m good for, isn’t it?”

“What?”

She barked a mirthless laugh. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the biggest slut in Lawrence.” She donned a lewd expression and batted her eyelashes. “I’ll do anything,” she said flatly.

She sounded hopeless, and he despaired for her. “Meg—”

“Save it, Clarence,” Meg interjected. “I’m gonna go find Alastair.” She exited the building, and Castiel returned to the gym with a heavy heart.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Cas got back from the bathroom, he looked dejected. “What happened?” Dean asked.

“I ran into Meg.”

“What’d she do?”

“Nothing. I feel bad for her, Dean.”

“What? Why?”

“I can identify with her.”

“Huh?”

“I think she feels lost,” Cas said quietly. “Like I do.”

Dean’s experienced a pang of sadness. “Cas—”

“Look who I found, bitches!” Charlie enthused behind him. He and Cas turned to discover Benny and Jo flanking her on either side. Benny sported an expensive-looking suit and slicked-back hair, and Jo wore a sparkly dark purple sheath dress complemented by an intricate updo.

Dean whistled. “Damn, Jo. Who knew you could look so feminine?”

Jo smacked his arm. “Can it, Winchester.”

“You do look lovely, Jo,” Cas pointed out.

‘Thank you, Cas.” She glared at Dean. “Now _that’s_ how you treat a gal.”

“Eh,” Dean mumbled.

“C’mon, Jo,” Benny urged. “Let’s dance.” Jo followed him to the center of the gym.

A minute later, Lilith strolled into the gym on Nick Fallon’s arm. She wore a short hot pink dress, and yeah, Dean didn’t mind admitting she had nice legs.—

“Dean!” Cas hissed.

Dean snapped his eyes up to him. “What?”

Cas’s jaw clenched. “Why are you ogling Lilith DeVille?”

“I’m not ogling—”

“Do not lie to me, Dean.”

“I mean, look at how revealing her dress is—”

“Dean.”

Dean grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry, I only have eyes for you, babe.” And he meant what he said. Yeah, Lilith might have shapely legs, but Cas was the most gorgeous damn thing he’d ever seen.

“Why should I believe you?” Cas prodded teasingly.

“’Cause.” Dean rubbed his thumb. “I’ll show you later.”

Cas grinned. “I look forward to it.” He withdrew his hand.

“I didn’t think she was with Nick anymore,” Dean observed.

“Lilith?”

“Yeah.” He paused and licked his lips. “Did I ever tell you why Sam broke up with Ruby?” Cas shook his head. “He saw Ruby making out with Nick in one of the school bathrooms.”

Cas gaped at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. I wonder if Lilith knows.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Bela and Gordon filed in and joined Lilith and Nick. Dean and Cas stood around for a few more minutes then got bored. They were about to go grab some food when Lilith and her friends decided to head in their direction.

“Well, look what the loser squad dragged in,” Lilith sneered. Behind her, Nick, Bela, and Gordon giggled. Lilith looked at Garth, who was loitering nearby with Anna, Hannah, and Charlie. “I’m surprised you would show your face here after, y’know.” She cackled.

“Leave him alone,” Anna snapped.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Lilith sighed with mock sadness. “To think. You used to be _popular_.” Anna snorted.

“Why don’t you pick on someone as bitchy as yourself,” a new person interjected. Stunned, Dean turned to see who the speaker was. Lisa Braeden. She was decked out in a navy dress and had a blonde boy on her arm. Dean thought he remembered him as a member of the JROTC.

“Who, like you?” Lilith parried.

Lisa smiled mischievously. “Perhaps.”

Lilith eyed Dean. “Oh, I forgot. You dated this freak. I heard you hated him, though.”

“You heard wrong.” Lisa scowled at Lilith. “Now leave.”

“Don’t think I’m forgetting about this.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“If you know what’s good for you,” Lilith shouted over her shoulder as she and her posse retreated.

“Thanks for getting rid of her,” Anna told Lisa.

“You’re welcome.” Her expression became remorseful. “Listen. I’m sorry about the way I acted after I broke up with . . . ” She glanced at Dean then back to Anna. “Can you forgive me?”

Anna smiled. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Lisa then addressed the entire group. She gestured toward her date and introduced him as Cole Trenton.

Cole shook everyone’s hand. “Nice to meet y’all.”

“Ditto,” Dean mumbled.

“Well. See you around,” Lisa said awkwardly. “And have fun.” She glanced at Cas before winking at Dean, snatching Cole’s hand, and pulling him onto the dance floor. Dean flushed.

“What was that about?” Garth inquired.

“What?” Dean responded.

“That wink?”

“Oh. I dunno,” Dean lied. He had no doubt that she’d been wishing him luck with Cas. She’d kept his secret, that night he’d screamed Cas’s name when they’d fucked. He was grateful to her for it. He’d treated her kind of badly. No doubt hearing your boyfriend say another guy’s name while you were having sex was horrifying.

Garth went to get himself another glass of punch. Dean took the opportunity to ask Charlie a burning question. “So, why did you decide to come with him?”

“I didn’t want him to miss his senior prom because of what a few jackasses did. Y’know?” Charlie replied.

Dean nodded.

The boys took turns dancing with the girls; then someone cut the music off. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Ingalls enunciated into a microphone. “It is now time to announce your prom king and queen.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered. “How much you wanna bet it’s Lilith and Nick?”

“All the votes have been tallied, and your prom queen of 2005 is . . . Lisa Braeden!” The crowd cheered.

Dean gawked as Lisa headed toward the front and Principal Henriksen placed a crown on her head.

“And your prom king,” Lilith continued, “is . . . Cole Trenton!” More cheering ensued.

Dean whistled. “Would you look at that,” he marveled.

“Do you wish you’d never broken up with Lisa?” Cas whispered in his ear.

“What? No. Why would I want that?” Dean replied.

“You could’ve been prom king.”

“Eh, who cares?”

“I’m actually kind of impressed our school voted for Lisa over Lilith,” Anna inserted.

Dean chanced a look at Lilith and grinned at her mortified expression. “Yeah, good choice,” Dean agreed.

Lisa and Cole danced in the center of the gym, and after a minute, others joined them. “Unchained Melody” was playing, so only serious couples took the floor. Jo and Benny were there, Jo with her head on his shoulder.

When that song ended, the DJ resumed playing his repertoire of fast-paced songs. Benny and Jo came over, Benny clapping Dean on the back. “We’re gonna head out to Andy’s afterparty, brotha.” Andy was having an afterparty? Of course he was. It was just like him to throw a party without actually going to the prom. “Y’all comin’?”

Dean eyed Cas, who didn’t seem enthused by the idea. “Nah. We’ll stay a little longer,” he decided.

“Ditto,” Anna said, nodding at Hannah.

Charlie and Garth conferred together and announced that they would accompany Benny and Jo to the party.

After Benny, Jo, Charlie, and Garth left, Anna tugged at Hannah’s wrist. “Let’s dance.” Hannah looked petrified at the suggestion, but Anna somehow coaxed her into giving in. A few people gave the girls odd looks as they danced, but no one harassed them. Thank God.

“We should dance,” Cas announced, eyes twinkling.

“But people might think—” Dean started to point out.

“We can say it was just for fun. Everyone’s been dancing with friends. Why can’t we?”

“Um, people might get the idea—”

Cas smiled. “Let them. We’ll deny it.” Cas blushed and leaned in closer. “Please, Dean? I really want to.”

Damn, who could resist those beseeching baby blues? “Okay.”

A rap song began playing, something he remembered Charlie telling him was Missy Elliott’s “Lose Control.” Everyone commenced dancing flamboyantly, and it seemed like the perfect atmosphere for him and Cas to take advantage of. He led Cas toward the dance floor, and they executed some crazy moves. Dean laughed at how ridiculous Cas looked, and Cas giggled. Dean probably looked ridiculous, too. Cas’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he appeared so genuinely happy that Dean couldn’t help but feel happy, too.

But once the song ended, Lilith and her goons surrounded them. “That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen,” Gordon spat.

“I didn’t hear anyone askin’ for your damn opinion,” Dean snarled.

“So how ’bout it? You two bonin’ each other or what?” Nick chimed in.

“Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“We’re not,” Cas hissed.

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Lilith declared.

“I think you really are a couple of fags,” Bela put in.

“Leave them alone,” someone yelled from behind them. Lilith and her friends turned to see none other than Meg Masters.

“What do you want, you little slut?” Lilith seethed.

“They’re not fags. And even if they were, who cares?” Meg waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “It’d be kinda hot.”

“Gross, Meg,” Lilith said, but Meg just smirked. “I don’t know what Crowley ever saw in you.”

Lilith and her group spotted Lisa and Cole nearby and dashed off to confront them. Meg opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Alastair Heller came and dragged her away.

Dean turned to Cas. “You ready to leave?”

“Yes,” Cas replied. “Where are we going? Andy’s party?”

“That where you wanna go?”

“No.”

“Then I’ve got somethin’ better.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.” Cas frowned. “It’s a surprise.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“I think you’ll like it.” Dean was nervous, though. What if Cas hated his plan?

Ten minutes later, Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Lawrence Majestic Hotel, where he’d reserved a room. It was the nicest hotel in town, and he wanted to pamper Cas.

“A hotel?” Cas ventured.

“Yeah.”

While they checked in, Cas gaped at the lobby’s polished parquet floor and ornate chandeliers. After Dean received the key cards, he and Cas took the elevator to the third floor, strolled to the end of the plush-carpeted hallway, and entered their room. Inside, Dean collapsed on the bed and sighed as the tension eased from his shoulders. God, the memory foam mattress was awesome. He patted the bed next to him, and Cas joined him.

He reached over Cas and grabbed the remote control from the bedside table. “Wanna watch TV?”

Cas rolled his eyes up to meet Dean’s. “I would prefer to do something else.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Cas nuzzled into his neck, trailing light kisses from there to Dean’s lips. Dean groaned into Cas’s mouth as the kiss grew more heated.

They languidly kissed for what felt like hours, hands trailing up and down each other’s arms, torsos, and thighs. Eventually, Dean snuck a hand underneath Cas’s shirt and caressed his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, appreciating his boyfriend’s taut muscles. He pressed an ear to Cas’s neck and inhaled his scent as Cas continued to rain affection on him with his lips and hands.

_I love you, Cas._

The thought came to him unbidden.

It shocked him, but he knew it was true.

He didn’t say it aloud, though.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel blinked awake, squinting against the light streaming in through the hotel window. Why hadn’t he and Dean drawn the curtain before going to sleep? When _had_ they fallen asleep? The last thing he recalled was gorging himself on the taste of Dean, drowning himself in it. Now, he was curled up in a fetal position with his head burrowed into Dean’s chest.

Dean’s eyes slipped open, and when they met Castiel’s, he was once again entranced by the passion those green orbs radiated. “Hey, you,” Dean murmured.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replied. His lips instinctively formed a smile. Despite a few unpleasant moments, last night had been magical, and he didn’t want the enchantment to end. He cupped Dean’s chin in one hand and traced his freckles with another.

He felt a stab of melancholy.

In less than four months, he would set off for college.

He wouldn’t have this anymore, the immediacy of Dean. It would be ripped away from him.

And he was still curious . . . an unfamiliar sensation stirred in his belly.

What would sex be like with Dean?

He wanted to know. The thought now enticed rather than repulsed him.

When he left for college, he’d no longer have the luxury of exploring his relationship with Dean. If he wished to have sex, he couldn’t. So what if, after the first time, he wanted to do it again? And if he wanted to maximize how often they could have that option?

But did that even matter?

Yes, he decided. He wanted to know everything about Dean, inside and out. Join with him until he didn’t know where he ended and Dean began. See what Dean was like in a state of orgasmic ecstasy, knowing _he’d_ given him that high.

And he wanted Dean to intoxicate him with that high, too.

Their bodies melding together, sealing himself to the person he—

What? Had feelings for?

A jolt of desire, unfamiliar, unexpected, and intense coursed through his veins.

Yes. He wanted to engage in that intimate act with Dean.

Castiel stilled his thumb at the corner of Dean’s mouth and declared, “I think we should have sex.”

Dean’s eyes bulged. “What?”

Castiel cursed his stupidity. Of course. Perhaps Dean had been eager for sex before but that was then. How could he have been so insensitive as to forget about Dean’s father? What if he’d just provoked a flashback, what if—?

Dean rested a hand on Castiel’s elbow. “You sure?”

Castiel averted his eyes from Dean’s. “We don’t have to, um, if you don’t want, I didn’t mean—”

Dean squeezed his elbow. “Of course I want. But do you?” Castiel nodded. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Dean swallowed. “Awesome. Um. If you wanna stop at any time, just, um, tell me, yeah. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want—” Castiel gave Dean a perturbed look. “Yeah, right.” He grinned tentatively. “Good thing I came prepared.” Castiel tilted his head in confusion. Dean pulled away from him and dug a couple of packets out of his coat pockets. “Lube.”

“Lube?” Castiel repeated dumbly.

“Yeah. Lube. For when, you know.” Dean reddened. “To make my dick move more smoothly, um, to keep things from being too painful.”

Oh. “It hurts?”

“It can, I think.”

Oh. Castiel had never thought about the mechanics of the act, and now he cursed his naivete. He couldn’t take back his proposal, though. In fact, even with that knowledge, he didn’t want to.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Um. Right.”

They stripped each other leisurely, pausing at every opportunity to taste each other’s lips and skin. Pleasure built up in Castiel slowly, spiking every time Dean brushed his penis with his fingertips or came tantalizingly close to his rim.

Finally, after what felt like hours, after what felt like only a second, Dean prodded his hole with a finger. “Ready?”

Castiel studied Dean’s heated gaze, his hooded eyes, the sunlight playing with strands of his dirty blonde hair and dappling his bare skin. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“Yes,” he answered.

Dean slowly pushed the coated finger inside, and Castiel hissed.

“You all right?” Dean inquired.

Castiel chewed his lip and thought about the question. It burned, and it had been excruciatingly painful for a second. But he was all right. He certainly didn’t want Dean to stop. “Yes.”

After a while, Dean added a second finger, then a third. That was when Castiel felt a fingernail strike a sinful chord inside him.

He heard a sound escape from between his lips, something not quite resembling a whimper or a moan or a shriek but somehow blending elements of all three.

Dean abruptly ceased his ministrations. “Cas? Did I hurt you?”

Castiel contemplated the matter. “No,” he breathed. “Quite the opposite, I believe.”

Dean donned a wobbly grin. “Good. That—that’s good. Um.” He licked his lips. “Should I go on?”

Castiel rose up and smashed his lips against Dean’s. Dean groaned into the kiss, and Castiel drank his fill of him before drawing back. “Stop asking,” he huffed against Dean’s lips. “And just do it.”

“But—”

Castiel caressed Dean’s shoulder blades before gripping them firmly and gazing directly into Dean’s eyes. “I will inform you if I do not wish to continue. Trust me. Please.”

Dean nodded and exhaled. “Okay. Okay, Cas.”

Castiel reclined on the bed once more, and Dean reinserted his fingers, soon adding a fourth. By the time Dean had finished, Castiel was a squirming mess. He bemoaned the loss of Dean inside him as he ripped open the second lube packet and rubbed the substance over his penis. Castiel watched, entranced, and Dean smirked when he caught him out of the corner of his eye.

“Ready?”

Castiel instinctively spread his legs and nodded. Dean lined himself up and pushed his tip in gently.

This time, Castiel did shriek.

“Cas?” Dean said. He smoothed a hand from Castiel’s torso to his upper back, stilling his hand there and using it to support Castiel. “Shh. It’s okay. I got you.”

Castiel turned dazed eyes up to meet his. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Dean’s eyes captured his, dispelling the anxiety threatening to suffocate him. He took a deep breath and urged, “Continue.”

“Are you—?”

Castiel shoved against the appendage inside himself. “Yes!” he confirmed, annoyed. “Stop asking.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Dean was gentle with him, almost too gentle. Eventually, he began stripping Castiel’s penis, his hand timed perfectly with each thrust. Sweat beaded on Castiel’s brow as his hips worked with Dean’s. He threw his head back as the atmosphere beween them grew more heated, and he was delirious, melting into Dean, intoxicated with the pleasure of it all, escalating, alien but glorious—

He trusted Dean utterly and completely.

And so he surrendered.

He bucked his hips almost violently, and with a whine, he spilled milky white onto Dean’s hand.

“God, Cas,” Dean gasped, and then Castiel felt it, Dean emptying himself _inside_ him, and maybe it was a little gross if you thought about it, but in this minute, nothing pleased Castiel more than knowing he’d done _this_ to Dean, turned his countenance into a frieze of ecstasy, and here he was bestowing Castiel with a most intimate part of himself—

Dean collapsed on top of Castiel, head coming to rest on his chest. Castiel brushed Dean’s damp hair back from his brow as they waited for their breathing to return to normal.

“So, Cas,” Dean panted, barking a nervous laugh. “What’d you think?”

“It was nice,” Castiel decided.

“Hmm. Yeah?”

“Yes.” _Because it's you._

Dean pulled out of Castiel and stretched out next to him. “Awesome.” He wrapped his arms around Castiel and stroked a rhythmic hand through his hair.

_I love you, Dean._

The sentiment shocked him.

Yet he realized it was true.

He didn’t say it aloud, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To maintain continuity with this chapter, I changed the previous one so that Hannah and Anna had agreed to go to the prom with Cas and Dean rather than Hannah and Charlie.
> 
> That's not a typo--it is 2005 in this fic. As I've mentioned, I went to high school in the mid-2000s, and I've set this fic in a similar era. 
> 
> According to my rudimentary research, "asexual" and "aromantic" were coming into usage on the Internet around the time this story is set. I figured Charlie would be knowledgeable about such things.
> 
> Finally, since this is a fictional Lawrence, none of the geography correlates with the real city.
> 
> Oh, and I think there are three more chapters after this one then an epilogue.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are very welcome! :)


	30. And This Is Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sexual thoughts, homophobia, child abuse, and self-harm.
> 
> See the end notes for an additional, spoiler warning.
> 
> I'm really nervous about this chapter. I got emotional writing it.

Dean still couldn’t believe what he and Cas had done. Cas had opened himself up to Dean, allowed him deep inside—

He tied his shoes and turned to Cas, who was tugging on his suit jacket, oblivious to how wrinkled it was. Dean chuckled to himself.

Cas smiled bashfully, blue eyes so bright it was almost inhuman. “What?”

Dean approached him and smoothed out the wrinkles. “There.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“’Welcome. Ready?” Cas nodded. “Awesome.” Dean pecked him on the lips and took his hand.

Dean had planned to shop for Sam’s birthday this morning with Charlie, but he wanted Cas to come with them. So, Cas had called Michael, who’d granted him permission to stay with Dean a little bit longer. He’d told Michael that he’d spent the night with a friend, but the night had been so eventful that he hadn’t gotten much sleep, and he wanted to snooze for a few more hours.

Before they went to Charlie’s, they stopped by Dean’s and changed out of their formalwear. Dean’s Led Zeppelin T-Shirt looked hella baggy on Cas, but seeing him in his clothes was still hot. It made him smile.

When Charlie let them in, she squealed. Cas frowned.

“What?” Dean demanded.

“You guys totally did it, didn’t you?” Charlie gushed. Cas reddened, and Dean gritted his teeth. “Oh, my God, you did!”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled.

Charlie practically jumped up and down with glee. “’Bout damn time.”

“Shut up.” He glanced at Cas, who was fidgeting with his fingers. “You’re embarrassin’ him.”

Cas looked up, flashing an inscrutable grin. “Don’t use me as an excuse, Dean.”

“Shuddup.” More loudly, he said, “Let’s go.”

“So, Sam’s birthday is tomorrow?” Charlie called from the backseat of the Impala.

“Yep.”

“And you’re throwin’ him a party?”

“Uh huh.”

“What kind of decorations are ya gettin’?”

Dean shrugged.

“Perhaps you should make it soccer-themed,” Castiel suggested.

Soccer season had just ended, and the coach had all but guaranteed Sam would be on the varsity team next year. “Yeah, that sunds like a good idea,” Dean conceded.

“What’re you gonna buy him?” Charlie asked.

“What?”

“For his present.”

“Oh. Um.” Dean chewed his lip. “I dunno.”

“He’s a nerd, right?”

“Yep.” Thank God. If he’d still been with that Ruby bitch, who knew what kind of person he’d be by now.—

“Get him something related to that.”

“Like what?”

“Didn’t he say he wanted a paintball gun?” Cas interjected.

“He did? When?”

“Oh, about six weeks ago, I believe.”

“And you still remember that?” Dean spluttered.

Cas furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Uh, ’cause it was six weeks ago?” Cas still looked puzzled, and Dean sighed. “Fine. You know how expensive those things are?”

“No.”

“It was a rhet—oh, never mind.”

They found some soccer-themed decorations at Michael’s, and Dean bought a paintball gun at Academy. At $120, it was the cheap one. _Sam better like the damn thing_.

During the shopping expedition, Dean fantasized about Cas, intoxicated by each memory his mind conjured.

Cas’s naked body, gorgeous even if blighted by the marks of his bastard dad. It hurt just thinking about them, but not as much as the scars Cas had inflicted on himself. The thought of how anguished Cas must’ve been, like the one night he’d shown up with that cut on his leg—

Taut muscles beneath those brands. God, Dean always marveled at how toned Cas was underneath his clothes.

His strong thighs, opening up just for Dean.

The engorged penis.

Because of Dean.

The trust Cas had put in him.

It took Dean’s breath away.

The soft feel of Cas’s hair in his hands.

Those blindingly blue eyes staring straight into his soul as he came undone.

God, Dean had never seen anything more sublime.

xxxxxxxxxx

After school, Mom and Dean put up the decorations and waited for Mrs. Tran to bring the freshmen over.

Sam was ecstatic when he walked into a house filled with presents and balloons. Dean smiled as he watched Sammy play Risk with his friends. It was so reminiscent of how Dean and his own friends spent their time that he couldn’t help but feel a sudden burst of fondness.

Eventually, though, he noticed that Jess seemed to keep her distance from Sam. And though Sam tried to hide it, he was clearly upset.

When everyone left several hours later, Dean confronted Sam about what he’d observed.

“So, what’s up with you and Jess?” Dean asked as he tossed wrapping paper into a trash bag.

“Nothing,” Sam replied as he tore open the box containing his paintball gun (which he’d loved, thank God).

“Bullshit.”

Startled, Sam glanced up at him. “What?”                             

“She barely said two words to you.” Sam looked away. “You guys have a fight or somethin’?”

“Not exactly.” He tapped his fingers on the box.

“Lay it on me.”

Sam sighed. “Ruby’s been talking to her.”

“And?”

“And she told Jess all about what we used to do.”

“Like what?”

Sam looked uncomfortable. “Stuff.”

“Enlighten me.”

Sam sighed again. “I’m not proud of it, Dean. I was stupid.”

“No one’s gonna argue with that.” Sam glared at him. “But hey, we’ve all done stupid things. What’d she tell Jess?”

“You know. About the partying. The drugs. And . . . the sex.”

“You and Ruby had sex?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

“You’re too damn young for that.”

“And how old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Touché. “Fourteen,” Dean murmured.

Sam looked smug. “See?”

“But it’s gotta be more than just sex that’s buggin’ Jess.”

Sam shrugged. “Ruby liked to do a lot of kinky stuff.” Sam wiped at his eyes. It hurt seeing his little brother cry. “She knew I used to be with Ruby. You know, before we started dating. But now that Ruby’s been talkin’ to her, she says she’s scared she might’ve read me wrong.” He turned pleading eyes to his older brother. “But I like her, Dean. A lot.”

“You mean Jess.”

“Yeah. Ten times more than I ever liked Ruby. I could write sonnets about her eyes, odes to her wit—”

“Whoa, there. Save the chick-flick stuff for the chick.”

Sam sighed. “If she ever lets me talk to her again. What can I do, Dean?”

“Have you ever told Jess that?”

“What?”

“How you like her more than Ruby.”

“No.”

“Do that,” Dean suggested. “Write one of those damn sonnets. It’ll be catnip to her.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

Sam beamed. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively, but he grinned conspiratorially at Sam.

xxxxxxxxxx

Father had been uncharacteristically calm all week. Castiel should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

In the kitchen, Father was pouring himself a glass of water. Castiel shifted the backpack on his shoulders and said, “Good-bye, Father.”

Father looked up. “Where are you going?”

Had Father not listened to him this morning? “Dean’s.”

“Why?”

Castiel restrained a sigh. “He, Charlie, and I are going to meet Hannah and Anna at Barnes and Noble to study for the English AP test.” Studying was no one’s idea of an amusing Friday night activity, but the AP test was on Monday, and they planned to spend the majority of the weekend studying.

“No.”

“No?” Castiel echoed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going. You are never to speak to Dean Winchester again.”

What? Why would Father demand that?

Father crept toward him, and Castiel grew nervous. He stopped right next to Castiel, blocking the front door.

Castiel suddenly felt the urge to flee, and he reached for the doorknob. “Please let me by.”

Father smacked his hand away, and Castiel flinched. “Do you think I’m an imbecile, Castiel?” What was he talking about?

“Of course not.” He couldn’t stop his voice from quivering. Though Father’s voice was serene, there was something dangerous in it, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before.

Father stepped closer to him, and when he continued, flecks of spittle hit Castiel’s nose. “Do you know what Naomi told me?”

“No.” Castiel tilted his head, attempting to be brave. “What did Mrs. Ingalls tell you?”

“She said you danced with Dean at the prom.”

Castiel grimaced. “So?”

“So. Do you know how that looks?”

“We were just having fun. We took turns dancing with our friends.”

“You didn’t dance with any other boys.”

“No. But—”

“And do you know what else Naomi saw?”

“No.” _There’s more? How? We were careful at the dance._

“Sunday morning, who should come strolling out of the Lawrence Majestic but you and Dean Winchester, holding hands.”

Castiel laughed uneasily. “You must be mistaken. I spent the night at Michael’s.”

“Naomi was not mistaken.”

Castiel swallowed. “Ask Michael. He’ll tell you.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And he corroborates your story.”

“So you know it’s true.”

“He’s lying.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“I can tell. Do you think I don’t know how to read my own sons?” Father stared at him. “So. You are never to see Dean Winchester again.”

“No, please,” Castiel begged.

“Yes.”

Castiel straightened up. “No. I refuse to do that.” Dean meant so much to him, and he wouldn’t let Father separate them.

“You will renounce him.”

“Or what?”

“Or.” Father bent down toward him, and Castiel backed away until he collapsed in one of the kitchen chairs. Father followed him, and now here he was, face looming inches above Castiel’s. “Don’t contradict me, my son. You will do as I say.”

“No.”

Father tossed the contents of his water glass in Castiel’s face, and Castiel squeaked. Shocked, he wiped his face off with his shirtsleeve.

“Yes,” Father repeated.

Castiel poured resolve into his one word of defiance. “ _No_.”

“Do you know what hell feels like, Castiel?” Castiel shook his head. “That’s where you’re going if you continue your abominable relationship with Dean Winchester. Hell. Would you like a taste?”

Castiel’s limbs grew shaky. He couldn’t imagine what Father had in store for him, which terrified him. He knew Father’s imagination was more twisted than his own.

Father held a small box in one hand. Castiel had no idea where it had come from. Father drew closer and pulled something out of it. _A match_. He struck it against the box and held it aloft. “Do you see this, Castiel? Do you see this flame?” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Look now.” Father leaned in closer, waving the match in his face, closer and closer, until Castiel could feel the heat lingering at the corner of his eye. “See it?” Father moved the flame closer until Castiel was afraid to blink for fear that his eyelid would touch the match. His eye ached with the effort to keep it open. “How would you like to feel this on your eye?” Castiel’s eye watered. He wasn’t sure how much longer it could stay open. “To have me put it out with this flame? That’s what you’ll feel. Over and over.” Father removed the match, and Castiel blinked rapidly. Father blew out the flame. “Well. Will you renounce Dean Winchester now?”

“No.”

Father lit another match, and Castiel cowered. Father pressed it to his temple, and he shrieked.

“Now?”

“No.”

Father lit another one and touched it to his cheekbone. Castiel writhed in agony.

“Now?”

“No.” A sob escaped with his answer.

Father lit another and dabbed another spot on Castiel’s face.

“Now?”

“ _No!_ ” Castiel cried.

Father kept lighting them, and soon he did more than merely touch them to his skin. He drew lines upon his face with each lit match.

Castiel screamed.

“Father, please stop,” he wailed.

“Not until you renounce Dean Winchester.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“No,” Castiel murmured.

“Then you shall feel hell.”

Father seemed to grow ever more gleeful, and Castiel noticed a frantic glint in his eye.

He recognized it.

It looked exactly the way he felt when he’d sliced himself with the knife.

He was just like him. Like Father. He would become the man before him someday.

The thought frightened him.

“Now, Castiel?” Father prompted.

“No,” Castiel whispered.

One more match, then Father cursed under his breath. He tossed the empty box onto the table. “Will you renounce him now?”

“No.” Castiel could barely form the word.

“You are not allowed out of this house until you renounce him.” _What about school?_ He would ask the question if he felt strong enough to articulate it. “Go to your room.”

“What if,” Castiel managed to croak, “I never do.”

“Then you will stay here for the rest of your life.”

Castiel stumbled to his room and wept. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live without Dean. If only he could _do_ something—

He retrieved the knife from underneath his bed.

“Castiel!” Father shouted, footsteps approaching his room.

He hid the knife underneath his jeans and turned to face Father when he entered the room. “Yes?”

“I need to go grocery shopping. Get in the closet.”

“The closet?” Castiel said dumbly.

“Yes. I am going to make sure you don’t leave this house while I’m gone.”

“Why must I go in the closet? Why not just lock me in my room?”

“It has windows, and I’m not letting you out of this house.” He proffered a twisted grin. “If that means keeping you in the closet for the rest of your life, I’ll do it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, wincing at the pain the motion brought to his cheekbones.

He strode into the closet, and he heard Father slap a padlock onto the other side of the door.

Tears leaked out of his eyes.

He had no doubt that Father really would keep him here forever. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Father look as resolved as he had with that proclamation.

Father was going to be worse from now on, and—

And he would never let him see Dean again.

And—

Castiel knew he was just like Father, deep down.

He would grow up to be a madman, resentful of Father, inflicting that resentment on others.

And—

He wouldn’t have Dean anymore.

He needed— _needed_ —Dean.

No one was going to be able to save him from this hell now. Not Dean, not Gabriel, not Michael.

He acted on impulse.

He pulled out the knife and fell to his knees.

He sliced down one forearm with the knife then the other, pouring all of his strength into the task.

He smiled with grim satisfaction when the blood began to drip.

He unfolded his legs and leaned back against the far wall, arms hanging loosely on either side, and closed his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean glanced at his watch. Cas was supposed to have arrived fifteen minutes ago, but Dean hadn’t heard anything from him since they’d left school.

“Dammit, where is he?” Dean hissed to Charlie. At first, Dean had been annoyed that Cas was late, but now his mood had changed.

He had a bad feeling about this.

Something was deeply wrong.

It was making him sick.

“Maybe his dad decided not to let him come?” Charlie hypothesized, leaning back on the couch.

“No. He’d’ve called us.” Dean gestured at his phone. “Or answered the phone.” He’d called Cas’s cell phone and his house several times, but no one had answered.

“Maybe he’s running late?” Charlie suggested.

“No.” Punctual was the dude’s middle name. Dean fidgeted with the ring Cas had given him for his birthday, tracing the lines of the wings. “Fuck,” he muttered. He closed a fist around the ring, and the wings’ ends stabbed his palm.

“What do you want to do?” Charlie asked.

Dean stood up. “Let’s go to his house.”

“And do what?”

“Pick him up. Or make his dad tell us what the hell is going on.”

“Okay.”

He and Charlie jogged to Cas’s house and discovered that Mr. Novak’s Land Rover wasn’t in the driveway.

“So, he’s not home?” Charlie ventured.

“Well, his dad ain’t,” Dean replied. “But he’s gotta be. He would’ve told us if he was gonna do somethin’ else.”

“Maybe he didn’t have time to tell us?”

“No.” Dean stalked toward the front door, rang the doorbell, and waited. No one answered.

“Guess he’s not home after all,” Charlie concluded.

“No,” Dean countered. “He’s gotta be here.” He swung a fist against the door. “Dammit, Cas, why aren’t you answering?”

“Dean—”

“No. He’s in there.” He met Charlie’s eyes, and her expression grew solemn. She must’ve noticed how panicked he felt. Dean turned the doorknob. Locked. “If only I knew how to pick these things,” he groused as he gestured at the knob.

Charlie smirked. “I do.”

“Huh?”

“I can get us in. But first, I gotta know you really wanna do this. That it’s not just a lark. Breaking into someone’s house is serious, y’know.”

“Shit, I know. But this _is_ serious. It’s Cas.”

“And you think, what? He’s hurt or something?”

That hadn’t occurred to him, but now that Charlie voiced the possibility, he grew afraid. What if something _had_ happened to Cas?

_Please God no_.

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Just humor me, okay?”

“All right.”

Charlie pulled a few tools out of her purse and proceeded to pick the lock. When she heard a tell-tale click, she grinned up at Dean and turned the knob. “You comin’?”

They traipsed into the kitchen then the living room. No one.

“Still think he’s here?” Charlie prompted.

“Dunno. Let’s check out the other places.”

First, Dean headed to Cas’s room, Charlie on his heels. He rapidly scanned his surroundings, and when he found no sign of Cas, he made to leave the room.

“Hey, Dean?” Charlie called from behind him.

Dean paused in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Why’s there a padlock on the closet door?”

Now _that_ Dean had not noticed, but it didn’t bode well. He went back into the room and stood next to Charlie. “You think you can pick this one?”

“No problem-o.”

When the door swung open, Dean rushed inside. It was pitch black, so he could see nothing. Charlie switched on the light.

And that’s when Dean saw him.

He opened his mouth to scream.

But no sound came out.

“C . . . C—C—Cas?” Dean whimpered. “Buddy?”

Cas’s head lolled against the wall.

“Dean, what—” Charlie began.

Dean snatched up Cas’s limp form. There was so much blood _everywhere_ , all over his beautiful Cas.

Dean cradled him to his chest, unmindful of the blood staining his shirt. “Cas,” he sobbed.

Charlie clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

He put his ear to the skin above Cas’s lips. He was still breathing, thank God. “Cas!” Dean wailed, clutching him closer. “Cas, please, no. I can’t . . . I need you, Cas. Cas, please.” Tears streaked down Dean’s cheeks. He smothered blood-stained hands through Cas’s hair and pressed kisses over Cas’s forehead, his eyelids. “Don’t you leave me, you son of a bitch.”

Over and over, he muttered nonsense, sobbing violently.

Then some assholes were trying to take Cas away from him.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Dean snarled.

“He needs to get to—”one of the men started.

“ _No!_ You’re not takin’ him!” If these bastards stole Cas away, hurt him more, Dean would—

“Dean,” Charlie pleaded. “They’re paramedics. They just wanna take him to the hospital.”

“ _No_.” Dean couldn’t comprehend anything she said but the words _take him_. Fuck that.

“Dean, they’ll help him.”

He heard the word _help_ and budged a smidge. ’Cause yeah, Cas needed help.

“Please, Dean. Let them help him.”

Dean relinquished his hold on Cas and wept as the paramedics dragged him away.

What if he never saw Cas again?

Charlie grabbed his shoulder. “C’mon.”

In the living room, he found a familiar figure.

“Mom?” Dean called.

“Oh, Dean,” Mom said. She scooped him into her arms, and he cried on her shoulder. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“I love him, Mom,” Dean confessed softly, voice muffled.

Mom embraced him, patting him on the back. “I know, sweetheart.”

He’d never forget the sight of Cas, comatose and bloody on the floor.

He must’ve been desperate.

Dean’s heart bled at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, Michael's is an arts and crafts store.
> 
> Spoiler warning: suicide attempt.
> 
> Psst Cas will be okay.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are welcome.


	31. When We're Spinning in His Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from a line in the song "Paradise Circus": "But we like it when we're spinning in his grip."
> 
> Warnings for homophobia, discussions of suicide, and references to child abuse and alcoholism.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and kudos and comments are welcome and appreciated!

Castiel heard voices.

“He’s still not answering his phone.”

“Fuck him.”

Castiel cracked his eyes open. But the light hurt them, so he examined his surroundings through slits.

It looked like a hospital room.

Michael and Gabriel were facing off beside his bed.

Castiel opened his eyes wider. “Michael? Gabriel?”

They both looked relieved. “Castiel,” Michael said, “you’re awake.”

“Yes.” He realized he was wearing a hospital gown. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t remember what happened?”

Castiel thought about the question, and oh, yes. But how’d he end up here? Why wasn’t he—“Did Father bring me here?”

Gabriel reddened with rage. “That bastard’s been MIA for hours.”

“Oh.” Castiel licked his lips. “Then who—how—?”

“Dean,” Michael replied.

Ice creeped through Castiel’s veins. “What?”

“He and your friend Charlie. They discovered you. Thank God.”

Oh, God. If Dean had seen him in that state—

Castiel stifled a sob. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dean.

“What the hell happened?” Gabriel demanded. “Why’d that motherfucker lock you in your closet?”

“Gabriel, perhaps this is not the best time—” Michael began.

“No, it’s all right,” Castiel interrupted. He turned to Gabriel. “He found out about Dean.”

“Fuck, Castiel,” Gabriel empathized. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean he found out about Dean?” Michael asked.

Castiel shrank under his intense gaze. Michael would know soon enough; he might as well admit his secret now. “Dean is more than a friend.” Michael narrowed his eyes in confusion. “He—he’s my boyfriend.” Michael gaped at him.

“That why you did it?” Gabriel prompted.

Castiel gave a curt nod. “He—he said he wouldn’t ever let me see Dean again,” he sobbed. “That he would keep me in the house for the rest of my life if he had to.”

“What about your face? Did you do that?”

“My face?” Castiel swept his knuckles over his cheek and winced. Oh, yes. The nightmare with the matches flashed through his mind. “No, Father did.”

“What?!” Michael exclaimed, appalled.

“He was trying to simulate the experience of hell,” Castiel said softly, rubbing his wet eyes.

“He shouldn’t have done that. There are other options. Things to help you overcome unnatural inclinations. Conversion therapy—”

“No way in hell are you sending my brother to some bullshit conversion therapy!” Gabriel thundered.

“Homosexuality is a sin.”

“Oh, my God. This shit again—”

“Gabriel—”

“I love him,” Castiel declared. The confession hung in the air, ringing loudly in Castiel’s mind.

“Castiel,” Michael said. “You’re only sixteen. You do not fully grasp the enormity of love. Do not confuse infatuation for it.”

“Do not patronize me, Michael,” Castiel seethed. “I am not an imbecile. I know how I feel.”

Michael nodded reluctantly. Castiel glanced down and noticed the bandages on his arms. Had he really done that? He was astonished by how far he’d gone.

And Dean had found him—

The thought hurt.

He’d done it because Father would have taken Dean away from him. But Dean had discovered him; he’d rescued him after all.

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but he did know three things.

No one could ever separate him from Dean now.

He needed Dean.

And he loved Dean.

That was the most important thing.

He made a decision.

“Is Dean here?” Castiel ventured.

“Yeah, he’s in the lobby,” Gabriel answered.

“I would like to talk to him, please.”

Michael nodded. “I shall retrieve him for you.” Gabriel eyed Michael distrustfully as he left the hospital room.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean sat alone with his mom in the lobby at the end of the hospital floor. Sam was staying the night at Kevin’s.

Charlie had relayed what’d happened to their friends, and they’d all come over to the hospital. However, their concerned and pitying looks had only made Dean more anxious, so he’d asked them to leave for the time being. Now, they were grabbing dinner in the hospital cafeteria.

The TV was on some Discovery Channel shit. Not that Dean was paying attention. At least it was so boring that it didn’t agitate him.

Mr. Novak had broken Cas.

If he came strolling into the hospital, Dean would strangle the son of a bitch.

He tried to stow away his rage for the time being. If Cas woke up—

 _When_ he woke up—

Dean didn’t want to scare him. Make him think he was mad at him for his—

For hurting himself.

Morose, Dean chewed on his thumbnail. He wanted to know how Cas was doing, but Mom had said he should leave the Novaks alone, wait until one of them decided to update him.

Speak of the devil.

The asshole brother appeared. “Dean?” he called.

“Yeah?” Dean replied.

“May I speak with you?”

“Sure.” Maybe he had brought Dean news. Maybe he’d get to see Cas—

“Dean,” Michael began once they were out of earshot of his mom. “Castiel has divulged to me the nature of your relationship.”

Dean froze. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he scoffed.

“Of course you do. You two had a romantic attachment.”

“Have,” Dean corrected automatically. Damned if he was gonna let Michael put it in the past tense.

“Yes. I had my suspicions—even so, I had not expected such depravity in my baby brother.”

“Who you callin’ depraved?” Dean snapped.

Michael suddenly seemed overwhelmed with exhaustion. For the first time, Dean noticed the haunted look in his eyes—a heartbreaking echo of Cas.

“The Bible says homosexuality is a sin, but—” Michael sighed. “Since you have befriended him, he has been happy. Even with his problems of late, he’s been happier than ever. For the first time in his life, in fact. Not that he was depressed; he just never found joy in anything.” He licked his lips nervously. “And I—more than anything, I want my baby brother to be happy.”

Well. As a big brother, Dean could respect that.

“The Bible is infallible, but perhaps there are other perspectives I should consider.” Michael wiped at his eyes. “Other ways of seeing things. You have given Castiel so much, Dean. Despite my feelings on the matter, I shall not tear you asunder.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. Maybe he didn’t agree with everything Michael said, but the guy clearly loved Cas and would never deliberately hurt him. “How—how is he?”

“He’s awake.” Dean’s eyes widened. “He’s asking for you, actually.”

Dean pasted on a shaky smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Dean followed him to a room in the middle of the hallway. Gabriel stood halfway between the bed and the door. And, in the bed—

 _Cas_.

Dean attempted to offer a reassuring smile. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas grinned in return. “Hello, Dean.”

Before Dean could consider the wisdom of the action, he dashed toward Cas and clamped his lips onto Cas’s. “Thank God you’re all right,” he whispered against his boyfriend’s lips. When he straightened up, he observed a grimace fleetingly pass over Michael’s face.

“Are you _tryin_ ’ to make us barf?” Gabriel gibed.

“Gabriel,” Cas admonished.

“Sorry,” Gabriel mumbled.

Now that Dean had backed up a little, he took in Cas’s face for the first time. He hadn’t noticed it at the Novaks’ house, but there were lines haphazardly strewn across his face. They looked like burns.

Cas’s eyes darted between his brothers. “Will you two leave us alone for a minute? I would like to discuss some things with Dean.”

“Sure, baby bro,” Gabriel replied.

“Yes,” Michael echoed. “We’ll be in the lobby.”

After Gabriel and Michael departed, Dean turned serious eyes to Cas. “Cas, what—?”

“I have decided where I would like to go to college.” The words came out in a rush, and Dean had to strain to hear them.

Dean blinked. “Seriously, Cas? _That’s_ what you want to talk about?” He couldn’t think of anything more irrelevant right now.

“Yes.” Cas tilted his head to the side, and Dean found the motion adorable. As usual. And he was beyond grateful that Cas was still here so he could do that. “Don’t you want to know where?”

“Sure.” Maybe if he indulged Cas, they could talk about more important stuff.

“KU.”

“I—what?” Obviously, Dean hadn’t heard him correctly.

“KU.”

“What—why? I mean, what about Yale and Stanford and—”

“KU has something those schools don’t.”

“Yeah?” That was hard to believe.

“Yes. You.” Cas’s twinkling blue eyes pierced his, so sincere, and oh. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“Um. Okay. But you don’t want to throw away your future just for me.”

“I’m not throwing away my future. I’m embracing it.”

“But, Cas, it’s not nearly as good of a school as those others—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Cas glanced down at his bandaged arms then back up at Dean. “This has made me realize something. I need you, Dean.”

“Um. But—but what about your future—”

“I can receive an excellent education at KU. I just have to know where to look.”

“Cas—” Dean didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t let Cas do what he was proposing. He wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

“You will not change my mind.” Cas’s eyes slid away for a minute then returned to Dean’s. “Because I love you.”

Dean gawked at him.

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean. I just thought you should know.”

“I—I—I,” Dean stammered. “Cas.” He scooted a chair toward Cas’s bed, sank down onto it, and grabbed Cas’s hand. He pressed his lips to a knuckle and stared at it. It made it easier to say what he wanted. “I love you, too.”

After a minute, he finally got the stones to look up at Cas.

Cas gazed down at him, awestruck. His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah.” He kissed another one of Cas’s knuckles before leaning back in the chair. He kept hold of Cas’s hand as he asked, “So. You gonna tell me what happened?”

Cas swallowed. “Father found out about us. And—and he locked me up. He said he’d never let me leave until I promised never to see you again.” Cas’s eyes fluttered uncertainly. “And I—I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean squeezed his hand. “I’m not lettin’ anyone take you from me.” Dean pointed at his own face. “What about this? Please don’t say you did that.” Dean’s voice came out in a whine, and he cringed.

“No. Father.”

“Fuckin’ motherfucker. Where is he, anyway?” Even Mr. Novak would come see Cas in the hospital, right?

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know. Michael tried to contact him, but he didn’t answer.”

“Asshole.”

Cas grunted in agreement. “I do not care about him anymore.” Dean didn’t quite believe him, but he let it go.

“Everyone else is here, too,” Dean told him. Cas furrowed his brow. “Y’know. The lunch and movie gang.”

“Oh.” Cas chewed his lip uncertainly. “Do they know what happened?”

“Not everything, but yeah. Charlie was with me when I found you. Thank God she could pick the damn locks.”

“Where did she learn—?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Anyway, I think they wanna see you. That okay?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Um. I’ll get them.”

Dean called Charlie to let her know everyone could come up. He met them in the lobby and led them to Cas’s room.

“Cas!” Charlie exclaimed when the group walked in. She ran toward him and threw her arms around him. “Thank God.” She bent down to murmur something in his ear; it sounded like, “we love you, y’know. So much.”

When she pulled back, Anna and Hannah joined her in the hug. Garth soon followed, and even Andy got in on it. They all glared at Benny and Jo when they didn’t join in.

“What?” Jo uttered. “I’m not the touchy-feely type.”

“Come on!” Charlie enthused.

“Fine.”

“Come on, Benny. Get in on this group hug.”

“Fine,” Benny huffed.

When everyone drew back, Cas swiped at his eyes, expression touched. “Thank you.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel was released from the hospital at around 3 a.m. Someone had washed and dried his clothes so he didn’t have to wear the hospital gown. Gabriel and Michael insisted on going home with him. They split up so they could each grab a few clothes from where they lived. Castiel rode with Michael. When they arrived at his house, Castiel followed him inside.

In the living room, Michael turned to Castiel. “Wait here. I’m just going to grab a few things.” Castiel ignored his request. He had a question he wanted to ask. He tried to figure out how to articulate it, but when they stepped into Michael’s room, Castiel forgot what it was as he stared, wide-eyed.

Michael’s bed was unmade, and trash littered the floor and dresser top.

But the worst part was the empty and half-empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol: beer, whiskey, vodka, tequila. A couple were even lying haphazardly on Michael’s bed.

“Michael?” Castiel ventured.

Fuming, Michael spun around to face him. “I told you to stay in the living room, Castiel.”

Castiel continued to scan the room. “What—why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Michael perched on the bed and sighed. “You shouldn’t have to be burdened with my problems.”

Castiel approached him. “Why do you—I don’t understand.”

Michael snorted. “Isn’t it obvious?”

 _Father_. “I wish you’d told me.”

Michael lay back on the bed. “You weren’t supposed to ever know. You have so much to deal with already.”

Castiel sat down on the bed and gazed down at Michael’s face. “It would have helped me to know.” Michael furrowed his brow, uncomprehending. “To know I wasn’t alone in . . . my activities.” _Self-destruction_. Tears started to Castiel’s eyes. “I felt so alone, and that was part of it—”

Michael wrapped his arms around Castiel and pulled him down. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I didn’t know.”

They lay silently for a few minutes; then Michael stood up. “Well. I should gather my things. Please do me a favor and don’t tell Gabriel about this, okay?” He swept his hand over the expanse of the room. “He would deride me for it.”

Castiel got to his feet. “Okay. But I think you underestimate Gabriel.”

After they were done at his house, Michael drove them home. Father’s vehicle still wasn’t in sight. “Where could he be?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied.

Gabriel arrived not long after they did. He strode inside with a McDonald’s bag. “I come bearing grub,” he announced.

Castiel’s stomach rumbled, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

“Got us a huge-ass thing of fries and some Big Macs.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Michael said when Gabriel passed him a burger.

They ate at the table quietly. When they were finished, Gabriel asked, “So what now?”

Michael checked his watch. “It is almost four a.m. None of us have slept. Perhaps we should get some rest.”

“I don’t feel like I could really sleep right now, do you, Castiel?”

“No,” Castiel replied through a yawn. Michael looked dubious, so Castiel explained, “I am tired, obviously. But I do not believe I could actually sleep.” _After what just happened, it would feel too much like death_.

Michael nodded. “I understand. Truth be told, I don’t think I could sleep, either.”

“So, what do we do?” Gabriel inquired. “Watch shitty infomercials? There’s nothing else on at this damn time.”

“Perhaps we could watch a movie.”

Castiel retrieved his meager collection from his room, and they settled on _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Before they could start the film, however, Castiel darted toward the kitchen, spurred by curiosity.

“Castiel! Where ya goin’?” Gabriel shouted.

Castiel threw open the cabinets and refrigerator, examining their contents. There were several new grocery items. He’d been right. Father had come home at some point.

Castiel slammed everything closed and rushed into his bedroom to view the closet.

“What the hell, baby bro?” Gabriel complained in his wake.

And here was further evidence. The floor had been cleaned.

Castiel gazed down at it, shocked. Not even Father was that cruel . . . was he?

“Castiel,” Michael said gently behind him.

“Why?” Castiel whined, eyes tearing up anew.

“What is it?” Michael came and stood next to him.

“This . . . it shouldn’t be . . . there should be _something_. It shouldn’t be so spotless.”

“This is where you—?” Castiel nodded, biting his lip to prevent himself from sobbing. “So you’re telling me Father has been here, cleaned the floor, and never bothered calling me back after . . . I left him so many messages, Castiel.”

Now Castiel did sob, unable to hold back any longer.

“Oh, baby brother,” Michael sighed as he enveloped him in his arms.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

Michael coaxed him back into the living room. There, he sat down in the middle of the couch, between Michael and Gabriel.

“What is it? What happened?” Gabriel asked.

“Father has gone too far,” Michael answered.

Gabriel’s eyes shifted toward Castiel. “What did he do?”

“Please don’t make me talk about it,” Castiel beseeched him. “Just—just start the movie, please?”

Gabriel grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and pressed play. About thirty minutes into the film, Castiel heard a car pull into the driveway. He and Michael exchanged significant glances. They looked toward Gabriel, who’d dozed off, before focusing their gazes on the kitchen, where the front door was located.

“Hello,” Father said when he walked into the living room. That was it. _Hello_.

Michael leapt to his feet. “Where have you been, Father?”

“Church. Praying.”

“Do you have any idea what has happened?”

“Of course. I received all your messages.”

“Then _what the hell_.”

Father’s eyes widened, stunned at Michael’s belligerent tone. “Language, son.”

“I don’t give a shit about language. Don’t you know that Castiel _tried to kill himself_?” Castiel flinched at Michael’s straightforward description.

“I knew he would be all right. He deserved to sweat.”

“ _What_?”

“Did you know that he has been engaging in a homosexual relationship?”

“That is no excuse—”

“Careful, son. I am his father. I know best.”

“Get out.”

“This is my house, Michael.”

“You are no longer welcome here. _Get out_.”

“Michael—”

“Was I not clear?”

“You insolent child.”

Michael swung his arm back and punched Father in the nose. Castiel gawked at him.

“You would strike your own father?”

“Yes.” Michael smiled maliciously. “I can do it again.”

And he did. Again and again and again. Castiel thought he saw blood pouring out of Father’s nose.

“Michael, stop!” Castiel pleaded, but Michael ignored him. Suddenly, Gabriel jerked awake.

“Whoa there, Michael,” Gabriel said. He pried Michael off of Father. “Be the bigger man, huh?”

“Fine,” Michael muttered. Father fled.

“What the hell just happened?” Gabriel asked after Father left.

“Castiel,” Michael demanded. “Pack your bags. You are going to stay with me.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Michael narrated the events while Castiel shoved clothes into his duffel bags.

He knew Michael would never hurt him. And yet—

That had been a violent side of him he’d never seen before. One he’d never suspected could exist.

And that frightened him.

When Castiel returned to the living room with his luggage, Gabriel had already left.

“Let’s go,” Michael said.

In the car, Michael commented, “I am sorry you had to witness that, Castiel.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel assured him.

At a traffic light, Michael ran a hand through his disheveled hair and glanced at Castiel with pained eyes. “Now you see it.”

“See what?”

The light turned green, and Michael resumed driving. “I’m just like him.” _Father_.

“What are you talking about?”

“I have the world’s most violent temper. It’s why I broke up with Muriel.”

Muriel. His last girlfriend, whom he still pined for even over a year later.

“What?”

Michael laughed mirthlessly. “We got in an argument. I—I broke her nose.” His voice wobbled. “I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t stay with her after that.” Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Michael continued, “It wasn’t her decision . . . it was mine. She forgave me. But—I was out of control. What if I did something like that again?” He whimpered, “I didn’t want to hurt her again.”

Castiel’s mind reeled with the revelation. Until tonight, he’d never seen Michael as anything other than calm and controlled. Perhaps he’d been putting in an enormous effort to suppress his rage, a rage he didn’t know how to cope with.

But Father never hesitated to direct his rage at others, never felt guilty for his actions.

Quite the opposite.

Castiel concluded, “You are nothing like Father.”

“Did you not just hear what I said?”

“I heard you. But you’re different.” Michael pulled into the driveway and turned to Castiel. “You care about the damage you do. And you don’t think you’re always in the right.” He paused then added, “And your rage problem . . . you can get help for that. You should. I think it will be good in more ways than one.”

Michael wept as he nodded.


	32. Commencement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for references to a suicide attempt and child abuse.
> 
> Wow, this is the penultimate chapter. Posting the last one (it's an epilogue, but still) will be bittersweet.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. As ever, kudos and comments are welcome and appreciated!

On Monday, Michael dropped Castiel off at school. Michael assured him he didn’t need to go, but Castiel didn’t want to disrupt his normal routine. Besides, he had the AP English test to take.

People kept surreptitiously ogling his scarred face when they thought he wasn’t looking. It made him uncomfortable. He was also afraid Father might be patrolling the grounds and searching for him. So while he waited for school to start, he darted into a bathroom and locked himself in a stall. He couldn’t escape everyone forever, but at least he could isolate himself for a little while.

Someone knocked on the stall door, and Castiel jumped.

“Cas? You in there?” Oh. It was Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel muttered.

“Wanna come out? No one else’s in here, I promise.”

Castiel ventured out of the stall, and Dean threw his arms around him.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded against his shoulder, but then tears seeped from his eyes, and he sobbed.

“Cas. Shh. It’s gonna be all right.” Dean extricated himself from Castiel, and Castiel frowned, missing his comforting embrace. “Hold on a sec. Just gonna make sure no one else comes in.” Dean pushed the trash can against the door then wrapped his arms around Castiel once more. He smoothed a hand down Castiel’s spine, and Castiel experienced a pleasant shiver.

“Thank you,” Castiel sniffled when he was finally ready to step back. All weekend, Dean had constantly been at his side. Michael still seemed to disapprove of their relationship, but at least he’d been cordial to Dean. He’d even told Castiel he was lucky to have a “friend” who cared about him as much as Dean did. He would eventually get used to the relationship, Castiel theorized, and his disapproval would melt away.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such a distraction,” Castiel said. “The AP English test is today and—”

“Hey, don’t apologize, man. I’m just glad to have you.” Dean cupped his chin and traced the burns with his index finger. “So glad.” He kissed Castiel, smooth and sensual, and Castiel sighed with contentment as his breaths mingled with Dean’s.

“And as for the AP test,” Dean continued, “I’ll do fine.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder and toyed with the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. “Love you, too,” he murmured into Castiel’s skin. It felt so intimate, almost as if Dean had poured the words directly into his soul.

The bell rang, and they reluctantly parted and headed toward first hour.

Everyone left him alone in AP Psychology because Jo glared at people who seemed overly curious about Castiel’s face. No one bothered him in second hour, either, but Mr. Turner made him stay after class to talk.

“Can I ask why you’re wearin’ a trench coat in the middle of May?” Mr. Turner began.

“I like it?” Castiel responded, wishing his answer hadn’t sounded like a question.

Mr. Turner raised an eyebrow. “You must be sweatin’ buckets under that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Roll up your sleeves.”

“What?”

“Roll up your sleeves.”

When Castiel made no move to obey, Mr. Turner pushed them up. His arms were still bandaged, and Mr. Turner gaped at them.

“Castiel, is this what it looks like?” Castiel nodded, reddening. He wished he could disappear.

“And your face? Surely that wasn’t you. Has Zachariah—”

“Father did nothing,” Castiel snapped. He wasn’t trying to protect Father this time. He couldn’t care less about him. But he didn’t want the whole school to know the truth, to have to deal with their pitying and astonished stares.

“You’ve just confirmed it for me.” Castiel stared at him in shock.“Your tone, boy, it gives it away—”

“Please don’t talk to him about it.” If Mr. Turner spoke with Father, he might stalk Castiel just so he could punish him for letting the secret slip to someone else.

“Oh, I won’t talk to _him_ about it,” Mr. Turner replied darkly.

The next morning, Castiel discovered that Mr. Turner had spoken with the principal about Father. Apparently, Father had been fired, and rumors were circulating as to why. The most popular theory seemed to be that he’d abused Castiel since he bore obvious burns on his face. People kept glancing at him with sorrow, and it mortified Castiel. He hated all the attention, that others pretended to care when they would not have given one whit about him just last week.

He was heading toward the bathroom once again when a voice arrested him in his tracks.

“So, Clarence, is it true? What everyone’s been saying about Mr. Novak?”

A few students had stopped to watch the impending conversation between them. He didn’t want anyone eavesdropping, so he grabbed Meg’s wrist and pulled her into the bathroom, ignoring the catcalls behind him. He blocked the door with a trash can and turned to her.

Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”

“Yes.”

Meg nodded. “Thought so.”

“Please don’t talk about it with anyone.”

Meg snorted. “Does it look like I have any friends at this damn school?”

“Alastair graduated two years ago.”

Meg grimaced at the name. “I’m not seeing him anymore.” She uncrossed her arms. “You were right. I probably shouldn’t fuck him if he’s a jackass.”

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“No. It’s the first time I’ve gone a week without fucking anyone and it’s actually . . . good.” She seemed astounded by her conclusion. “I recognize the signs, y’know. Since you had that black eye—”

“I know. Your parents—”

“Yeah,” she huffed, running a hand through her hair. “Thank God I’m graduating this year. I’ll finally be able to get the hell away from them.”

“Are you going to college?”

“Right, ’cause my grades are good enough for that.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “Head for New York like every other lost little girl?”

“If you ever want to talk to someone about anything . . . I’m here. I’ll give you my number.”

“That’s sweet of you, Clarence.” She lowered her voice, pronouncing the next two words earnestly. “Thank you.”

During first hour, he was called to the counselor’s office. She wanted to send social services to Father’s house, but Castiel assured her there was no need. He was living with Michael now. Together, they were planning to sue for emancipation, and Gabriel was helping them.

Gabriel had offered to take Castiel in, but he and Michael both knew that Gabriel barely had enough money to cover his own needs, let alone Castiel’s. So, Michael had enthusiastically invited Castiel to stay with him. He was looking forward to getting further acquainted with Michael now that Father no longer would come between them.

At lunch, Castiel invited Meg to join his group. She gave him a dubious look.

“Do you really wish to eat alone?” Castiel asked.

“Fine,” Meg mumbled.

At first, Meg hunched into herself, barely acknowledging the others. But with her bubbly personality, Charlie refused to be pushed away. Meg opened up a little more, first responding in monosyllables, then gradually in sentences.

After lunch, Meg gripped him by the elbow and pulled him aside. She regarded him coyly and stroked his upper arm with a finger. “Y’know, Clarence. I still think you’re hot, if you ever wanna have a go?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Castiel shrugged her off. He knew the offer wasn’t serious—not exactly. Sex was the topic she went to when she felt vulnerable. It was her way of connecting with people, developing intimacy without cultivating a real relationship.

Because real relationships could hurt, and yes, they made you vulnerable.

But this year, Castiel had learned that they were also immensely rewarding.

“I . . . am not interested in you that way, Meg.”

She smiled devilishly. “I know. You’re dating Dean.” Castiel gawked at her. Why would she . . . after all, she’d come to their aid during prom. “So it’s true.”

“Does everyone know?”

“No one really _knows_ —but even if they did, would it really be such a big deal?”

No, it wouldn’t, Castiel realized. Now that he no longer had to hide anything from Father . . . he didn’t care what anyone thought about the relationship.

“So you’re not . . . disappointed?” Castiel asked.

“Hell no. ‘Sides, I don’t need any more fuck buddies. I should probably stay away from that shit for a while. A friend is really the best thing I could have.” She hesitated before launching her inquiry. “Are we friends?”

Castiel smiled “Yes, Meg. I believe we are.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“How are you today, Dean?” Layla asked.

Dean picked at a hangnail, nervous. He had so much to say he didn’t even know where to begin. Then again, did he actually want to tell Layla about what’d happened? Sometimes he wondered why he kept coming here. He shouldn’t sit around whining about his feelings like some chick.

“Dean?”

Real men didn’t do that, as Dad had constantly reminded him.

As Dad had reminded him?—

Screw it. Why should he give a fuck about what Dad thought?

Dean’s lips trembled as he spoke. “Cas—he tried to kill himself.” He swallowed, attempting to stifle the guilt. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I should’ve gone to Child Protective Services or somethin’—then it wouldn’t’ve happened.” His voice broke on the last word.

Layla clapped a hand over her mouth as she gasped. She gazed at him with sorrowful, sympathetic eyes. “Oh, Dean. We really can’t tell what would’ve happened. Is he all right?”

“Yeah.” Dean shivered. “I found him.”

“What?”

“Me and my friend Charlie. We found him after he’d—done it. Thank God. If he’d’ve—” _Died_ , he didn't want to say _._ “—I don’t think I could’ve forgiven myself.”

“Why would it have been your fault?”

“Because I didn’t save him.”

“You cannot take the blame for everything, Dean.”

“But it really would’ve been my fault.”

Layla furrowed her brow. “How so?”

“’Cause he’s my boyfriend.” She still looked confused. “I told you his dad was a homophobic asshole, right?”

“Among other things.”

“Okay. So. He discovered that Cas and I are, um, together. And the way he reacted . . . Cas lost all hope.” Dean closed his eyes as he imagined and described what Cas must’ve gone through. His dad railing maniacally about hell and scoring his face with matches. Though the scars wouldn’t be there forever, they’d be there for quite a while. Mr. fuckin’ Novak locking Cas in the closet, vowing to keep him prisoner until Cas promised not to see Dean anymore. And Cas had been so brave the whole time, defiant. But he had a breaking point, and Cas had . . .

Dean still saw the blood covering him.

“And how is he now?” Layla asked gently.

“He’s—I dunno. Okay? But he’s tryin’ to throw his damn life away.” Much as Dean would love for Cas to go to KU with him, allowing him to actually follow through with that plan would be selfish. Cas was the smartest person Dean had ever met, even smarter than Charlie. Except when it came to computers, of course.

So Cas should go to Stanford or Yale next year. Public universities were for average Joes like Dean.

He should get the education he deserved, explore the world outside of Lawrence and find his rightful place in it. He could do anything— _anything_ —and he shouldn’t tie himself to Dean and this godforsaken town.

“Why do you say that?” Layla questioned.

“You know the first thing he said to me after the, um, suicide thing?”

“What?”

“He said he was gonna go to KU with me.”

She frowned. “You wouldn’t like that?”

“Hell, I’d freakin’ love it. But it’s not the best thing for him.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause. I mean, he got into so many awesome schools. Friggin’ Ivy League and everything. Who in their right mind turns that down to stay with a guy like me? I’m nothin’ special.”

“But you are.”

Dean snorted.

“I’m serious,” Layla continued. “I’ve never met anyone like you, and that’s saying something.”

“Whatever, lady.”

“But really, Dean. Have you ever thought about the fact that maybe it’s not your decision?”

“What?”

“If that’s what Cas really wants, to go to KU to stay with you, what’s wrong with doing that? He’s capable of choosing what’s most important to him, and that’s what he picked.”

 _What’s most important to him._ Dean felt a strange fluttering in his stomach. Cas had said he loved him, and Dean knew he meant it.

He loved Cas, too. That was why he couldn’t allow Cas to make stupid decisions.

“His future should be what’s most important.”

“What are you afraid of, Dean? Do you think he’ll eventually resent you for his choice?”

“No,” Dean scoffed. She studied him, and he squirmed. “Um. Maybe?”

“You don’t know the future, Dean. That might not even happen.”

“It might.”

“And he might also come to regret going to a school where he’s without you.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond. That possibility was unlikely, but he didn’t like to admit it. No one could replace Cas for him, and he liked to think Cas felt the same way about him. Even if it didn’t make sense.

“I think he understands what he wants,” Layla concluded.

Dean hoped so.

xxxxxxxxxx

Standing at the podium in the convention center, Castiel surveyed the crowd before him, which consisted of the graduating seniors and their families. Despite several setbacks, he’d done it. Graduated as valedictorian.

Behind him sat the three salutatorians, arrayed according to class rank from second to fourth: Charlie, Anna, and Lilith, the latter clearly disgruntled because she was not valedictorian. She wouldn’t get to make a speech, which meant she wouldn’t be the center of attention.

“In these speeches,” Castiel began, “it is customary to spout a plethora of clichés. Mention something about how we are bonded together because we are part of the same graduating class. Discuss how this is the end of an era for us, how when one door closes another one opens. How we are moving on to bigger and more exciting things, finally becoming adults. And carpe diem. Seize the day. Trust ourselves. Follow our passions and dreams.

“While I do not promise that this speech will be free of clichés, I would like to speak from the heart. I do not pretend to be representative of the entire student body; far from it. But I am one of us, and our stories are all unique. Together, they make up our totality, define our class’s character.

“I have been through much this year, and I have the scars to prove it.” He gestured at the burns on his face. Before, he never would’ve had the courage to openly acknowledge such marks, but he wasn’t afraid to show the world who he was anymore.

“My life changed in August, when I met my first friend, Dean Winchester. Yes, I will confirm the rumors. Dean and I are more than friends now. And, Dean.” He searched for his boyfriend, and when he spotted him in the crowd, his gaze lingered on him as he professed, “I love you. I am not afraid or ashamed to admit it.” Earlier, he had asked Dean whether this part of his speech would be all right. Though Dean had blushed, he’d actually seemed pleased by it.

“I learned how it feels to be accepted by others and to accept them in return. To care for and be cared for. I experienced things I never had before. Like pop culture.” A few people in the audience giggled.

“I struggled with English, and it seemed pointless. Sorry, Mr. Shurley.” More muffled laughter ensued.

“But just as I helped Dean with the subjects he found difficult, Dean helped me with English. He helped me understand the subject’s value, and I grew to love it for what it is, so different from my other favorite class, Biology.

“And now, when I enter college, I plan to major in both English and Biology. Some might find this combination of majors puzzling, but we all embody similar contradictions. I am embracing the diversity of who I am, as should we all.

“I have learned much this year. In school, of course, but I have also gleaned other lessons that are just as if not more important.

“In August, I will be a freshman at the University of Kansas. People have asked me why I would settle for such a mediocre choice when I could attend Yale or Stanford or Dartmouth.

“But I do not believe I am ‘settling.’ I am pursuing what is truly most important, my connection with a kindred spirit. When you find that connection, it is foolish to separate yourself from it. You risk losing it forever.

“So those connections you have made, those real connections, hold tight to them. Do not let them go. They will give you strength when life deals you blows.

“These are the thoughts I offer you upon our graduation night. Perhaps clichéd, probably not profound, but heartfelt.

“And so now I say it: Congratulations to us all!”

He tossed his cap into the air, and the graduating seniors followed his lead. He grinned as Mr. Henriksen thanked him for the speech then took his seat beside Charlie.

“Good job,” Charlie whispered to him.

“Thanks,” he whispered back.

After Mr. Henriksen had called everyone’s name, handed out the diplomas, and concluded the ceremony, Castiel sought Michael, Gabriel, and Kali. When he found them, they offered their congratulations. His brothers punctuated the sentiment by sandwiching him in a hug.

When they released him, Castiel asked, “Where is Father?” Father, of course, was no longer employed by Lawrence Magnet, and an irreconcilable rift existed between Father and himself. Nevertheless, surely Father would wish to witness his son’s graduation, if only for appearance’s sake.

“He didn’t come,” Michael replied.

“He wouldn’t dare show his face here,” someone muttered behind Castiel. He and his brothers turned to face the speaker, Mr. Turner.

“What do you mean?” Michael inquired.

“He has few friends here. Just Naomi and Hester. Maybe Bartholomew. But everyone else—they wouldn’t hesitate to tar and feather him.”

“That’s pretty hardcore,” Gabriel gibed.

“There is little love for Zachariah here.” He sighed. “If only we had seen him for what he was sooner.” Mr. Turner approached another family, and Castiel stared after him. He hated the pity he saw in all the teachers’ eyes. At least Mr. Turner wasn’t the same.

Castiel exchanged more small talk with his brothers and Kali then decided to look for Dean.

xxxxxxxxx

Dean had been touched by Cas’s speech, flattered that he wanted to boast about their bond. Nervous, of course, but knowing that Cas felt so deeply about him . . . it made his chest feel funny.

At least they didn’t need to hide their relationship anymore. Thank God. He was proud to be with Cas, not ashamed. Cas was special, and being able to call Cas his . . . it was the ultimate high.

But for the most part, the ceremony had been long and boring. He’d almost fallen asleep by the time it was over.

When everyone dispersed after the ceremony, he searched the crowd for a familiar face, but he couldn’t find anyone.

Behind him, he heard someone shout his name.

Dean turned around to face the source and beamed. “Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam hugged him. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Mom embraced him next. “I’m so proud of you, Dean,” she said into his ear. When she pulled back, Dean examined the four people arrayed before him. Sam had snaked his arm around Jess, and they both looked happy. He had taken Dean’s advice, and apparently Jess had lapped up everything he had told her.

Bobby stood next to Mom. Dean wasn’t exactly sure why he’d come to the graduation ceremony, but he was glad Mom had found a source of support, no matter how unlikely. Bobby checked in on her and the family from time to time. She turned to him for help whenever she didn’t want to explain the truth about her situation to someone else.

Mom handed Bobby a camera and posed next to Dean. “Will you get a picture of us?”

After Bobby snapped the photo, Mom coaxed Sammy into joining them for another picture.

When the impromptu photo session was over, Dean chatted with everyone for a few minutes then asked Mom, “Is it all right if I go look for Cas?”

Mom ruffled his hair, and Dean pretended to be miffed. “Sure, honey. Are you planning to go out to celebrate?”

“Yeah.” Maybe he and his friends would even think of a senior prank.

“Okay. Have fun, and be careful.” Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Dean wandered around the mezzanine, but he still couldn’t find anyone he knew. Until he bumped into the last person he expected to see.

“Dad?” Dean gasped.

“Hey, Dean-o,” Dad replied. Dean stared at him in stupefaction. “What, you didn’t think I’d miss my own son’s graduation, did you?”

“No,” Dean murmured.

Dad smiled at him. “Congratulations, Dean.”

Dean could do nothing but gape at him. Here Dad was, acting as if nothing had ever happened. As if he thought he deserved to win Father of the Year.

He flashed back to an afternoon when Dad had forced him to his knees, and he trembled.

“Look, Dean,” Dad resumed, “I know I haven’t always been the world’s best dad. I’ve made mistakes, done things I’m not proud of. But you’re my son, and I’ll always love you.

“I’m sorry I let things get out of hand.

“I’d like to see you once in a while, you know. What do you think?”

“Huh?” Dean exhaled. His brain froze at Dad’s words. Surely he hadn’t heard them right.

“I’m asking for a second chance, son. Forgiveness. Let me make it up to you. Please.”

Dean thought about what Dad had just said. All his life, he’d wanted nothing more than for his dad to love him, to be proud of him.

Now Dad was offering him just that.

But he couldn’t forget about that afternoon, what Dad had done when he’d discovered that Cas was more than just a friend. It still made him sick.

It still made him cower.

Sometimes, he still thought he’d deserved it.

Rationally, he knew he hadn’t. Cas had said as much. With Layla, he’d been working on convincing himself of the truth.

Letting Dad back into his life would undo what he’d achieved with her.

Would Dad even make good on his word? Mom had given him a second chance, and he’d lied to her.

“No,” Dean breathed.

“What?”

“No.”

“But I’m your dad.”

“That doesn’t excuse everything you’ve done.”

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Maybe you are; maybe you aren’t. Doesn’t matter. Some things are just unforgivable, Dad. And you, what you did—that’s one of them.”

Dean wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t be around you anymore. It’s too much.” _I don’t want a constant reminder of what happened._

“Bye, Dad.”

Dean started to walk away, but Dad grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do this, Dean.”

Dean wrenched his hand out of Dad’s grasp. “Don’t touch me.”

Dad snatched at his wrist again. “Dean, c’mon.”

“Leave him alone,” a gravelly voice intoned behind Dad.

Dad spun around to face Cas. “ _You_ ,” he snarled. He raised a fist, but Cas clamped a hand over it before he could attempt a blow.

“Leave us alone.” He stepped away from Dad and raised his eyes to Dean. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. He laced his fingers with Cas’s and strode away, never looking back.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked once Dad was long behind them.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I think so.” He studied Cas for a minute. “What about you?”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Um.” Dean didn’t know how exactly to bring up the subject. “Your dad, you saw him? Did anything happen?”

“Father did not come.”

“Oh.” Dean was surprised by that. If John Winchester had come, why wouldn’t Zachariah Novak be here?

He was relieved, though. Cas didn’t need to see that bastard again. And if he had been here, Dean would’ve been tempted to find him and pound him into a bloody pulp.

“I’m proud of you, Dean.”

“Huh?” Seriously, where had that come from?

“I know you love your father still. You wanted to let him back into your life, but you didn’t. It was the right choice. You didn’t deserve what he did to you.”

Instinctively, Dean disagreed even if he understood that Cas was right. “You know, the same goes for you.”

“What?”

“Your dad. You deserved none of his shit.”

“Hmm. I don’t know, Dean. Sometimes I wonder. I’m afraid I might have some of his tendencies.”

“Bullshit.” Dean rubbed a thumb over Cas’s knuckles, attempting to ease the tension he felt lurking beneath the skin.

“Perhaps,” Cas said doubtfully.

“No perhaps about it. He’s outta your life for your good, right?”

“I believe so.”

“Then you’ll see, now that he’s outta the way.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas’s.

“I know you’ve just declared your undying love to the world and everything, but isn’t that overkill?” someone asked.

Dean and Cas quickly pried themselves away from each other. Dean eyed the speaker warily. “Meg.”

He still wasn’t sure what to think of Meg. Cas liked her, and so Dean had decided to tolerate her presence, but she was just so abrasive and unpleasant. For some reason, she seemed to have a soft spot for Cas, though. When she talked to him, occasionally he could see beneath her thorny layers, a tiny hint of vulnerability.

“Hey, Dean,” Meg replied before turning to Cas. “Clarence. That was a brave speech.”

Cas blushed. “Thank you.”

“Hey, bitches!” Charlie exclaimed nearby. Before Dean knew what was happening, she’d embraced him tightly. Then she hugged Cas and even Meg. “We did it!”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ miracle,” Meg muttered.

“So, what’re we doing now?”

“Senior prank?” a new presence suggested. It was Jo, with Benny’s arm slung around her shoulders.

“I’m down with that,” Meg agreed.

“I don’t know,” Cas said.

“Why not?”

“It seems rather poor form. Mr. Henriksen, Mr. Turner . . . everybody has been so kind to me.” He flushed at the reference to his private life.

“I’m sure everyone else will be doing a senior prank,” Anna put in as she joined them.

“It seems kind of mean, anyway,” Hannah said from beside her.

“We could do something good-natured,” Charlie mused.

“Like what?” Benny said.

“Overrun the place with puppies and kittens?” Garth said from behind Benny.

Everyone else burst into laughter, because seriously, what the hell?

“That might cause some kind of hazard,” Anna hypothesized.

“Where would we get these puppies and kittens, anyway?” Jo asked.

“The pound?” Andy put in when he arrived.

“So, break into a pound and steal some animals to release around the school. Brilliant idea.”

“They would wind up as strays, and that wouldn’t be good for them,” Hannah put in.

“Jeez, you guys are thinkin’ about this way too seriously,” Dean pointed out.

“Okay, no senior prank,” Charlie said. “So, what’re we gonna do?”

“I wouldn’t mind vandalizing Father’s house,” Cas said, a strange edge to his voice.

“I’m in,” Meg said.

“No, Cas,” Dean responded. It would bring back too many bitter memories for Cas, and both he and Cas should try to move on.

When Cas gave him a confused look, Dean leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Let’s stay away from your dad, hmm? We’re moving on, right?” He stepped back, and Cas nodded. The others studied them curiously, but no one asked what he’d said to Cas. Thank God. He didn’t want to subject Cas to any more interrogations.

“Okay, let’s do something else instead,” Cas agreed at last.

“Wanna go out to dinner?” Anna said.

“Sure,” Dean replied. “Where?”

“How about that diner with the pie you like?” Cas suggested.

“Sounds awesome.”

With no other ideas forthcoming, the group opted for the diner and let their families know where they were going before they left.

A wellspring of contentment bubbled up in Dean’s chest.

His life certainly wasn’t perfect, but it was damn good. He was slowly healing, and so was Cas. They would support each other, and together, they’d defeat their demons.


	33. Epilogue: New Horizons

_Three Months Later_

With a sigh, Dean dropped the last plastic tub onto the stack at the foot of his tiny bed. Fuckin’ finally. He, Cas, and their families had been lugging shit into their dorm room since eight this morning. Now, he was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty.

Sam handed him a water bottle, and Dean nodded his thanks, still marveling at how tall Sam had gotten over the summer.

“Should we all go out to lunch?” Mom suggested.

“I could devour some barbecue,” Gabriel said, practically salivating.

Kali swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t listen to this glutton.”

“Barbecue actually sounds good to me,” Michael put in. “If that is all right with Dean and Castiel? It’s their day, after all.”

“Barbecue’s fine, as long as they’ve got pie,” Dean replied. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I would be okay with barbecue as well,” Cas answered.

“Great!” Gabriel exclaimed. “So it’s settled.”

Dean drove the Impala to an out-of-the-way barbecue joint, with Cas riding shotgun and Mom and Sam in the backseat. Michael, Gabriel, and Kali followed in Gabriel’s beat-up, old red car.

In the restaurant, the waiter had to push together a few tables near the back of the small establishment. When they ordered, Mom got family-sized portions of fries, baked beans, and macaroni and cheese.

The food was finger-licking good; the apple pie was the best part, obviously. Mom offered to pay for the entire bill. While Gabriel seemed down with the idea, Michael objected until Mom promised to let him make up the difference sometime.

Back at the dorm, Michael, Sam, Dean, and Cas began unpacking everything while Mom visited Walmart with Gabriel and Kali to buy supplies.

After he’d hung up his clothes in the tiny wardrobe (seriously, a _wardrobe_ , not even a real closet), Dean collapsed on the extra-long twin bed. Shit, but he felt like he’d landed on a rock. “Ouch!”

“I told you you needed a mattress pad, Dean,” Cas reminded him for the umpteenth time today.

“Yeah, yeah, shoulda listened to you,” Dean mumbled. Luckily, that was one of the things Mom was supposed to be coming back with.

“Dean, where do you want the TV?” Sam asked.

Damn, where the hell was he supposed to put it without blocking something off?

“You should put it on the dresser,” Michael suggested.

Yeah, there was just enough room on top of the dresser for the TV to fit. Dean could keep the PlayStation in the top drawer when they weren’t playing.

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Whaddaya think, Cas?”

“Yes, let’s put it there,” Cas agreed.

Michael settled the TV on top of the chest of drawers.

“Fuck, but this place is small,” Dean griped.

“It’s a dorm room, Dean, what’d ya expect?” Sam replied.

“Shuddup . . . I’m just wonderin’ where we’re gonna put everything.”

“You just have to get creative,” Michael explained. “That’s the first lesson I learned in college. You have to be creative with everything—the arrangement of your space, your budget, your food, your time.”

“And I thought college was supposed to be _fun_ ,” Dean groused.

Michael’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it is.”

“No offense, dude, but I doubt you had much of a social life.”

“I did have a social life.”

“Yeah, and what kinda stuff did you and your friends do up at Dartmouth? Play chess?”

Michael smiled mischievously. “Oh, just because it was the Ivy League doesn’t mean we didn’t know how to party.”

Dean gaped at him, as did Cas. Seriously. The dude was the very definition of straight-laced conservative. Dean would’ve bet the guy’s most exciting college days involved all-night study sessions.

“What?” Michael responded. “Being responsible doesn’t preclude having fun.”

Cas held up an empty tub. “Where should we put these when we’ve unpacked them?”

“Hmm. Give them to me. I’ll take them to my storage unit.”

Dean had just filled one of his drawers with socks and boxers when Mom, Gabriel, and Kali got back. Gabriel stocked their fridge with tons of Coke and stuffed one of the drawers with a whole bunch of junk food. Dean appreciated that he’d gotten all those snacks, but he didn’t think either he or Cas ate some of that stuff.

“Seriously?” he complained. “Gardetto’s?”

“Gardetto’s are awesome,” Gabriel asserted.

Cas wrinkled his nose. “They’re disgusting.”

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. “Just ’cause you don’t have taste doesn’t mean the same’s true about Dean-o here.”

“Eh, Gardetto’s are okay,” Dean said.

“Heathen.”

Mom helped Dean put the mattress pad, sheets, and comforter on his bed; then she, Sam, Gabriel, Kali, and Michael prepared to leave.

Seeing them go was bittersweet. He and Cas would now have to finish unpacking on their own. But more than that, it was strange living somewhere without Mom and Sam.

Living with Cas in the same room.

Dean was hella excited about it, of course, but what if he got on Cas’s nerves?

Fuck, he was tired. He’d been up since seven in the morning.

He collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes.

“Dean? Are you going to make me set up everything by myself?” Cas asked.

“Just a sec. ’M tired,” Dean replied.

He heard rustling, so he turned to see what Cas was doing. He was putting up a poster above his bed.

Dean snorted. “Seriously, Cas? What kinda nerd has a poster of the periodic table?”

Cas tilted his head as if the question genuinely confused him, which, what the hell. Dean thought he’d taught the guy better. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You expect us to make new friends if they see that in our room?”

“If they would shun us because of my poster, then perhaps they should not be our friends.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Plus, it’s useful.”

“How’s that?”

“I can refer to it when I’m doing chemistry homework.” Dean snorted. “Besides,” Cas continued, “your AC/DC and Mötley Crüe posters are just as embarrassing.”

“Blasphemy!”

Cas smirked. “People might think you’re stuck in the eighties.”

“Hmph.” Dean closed his eyes again.

Soon, he didn’t hear any noise from Cas. “What’re ya doin’?”

“If you’re going to take a nap, so will I,” Cas answered.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was almost five o’clock when Castiel woke up. Dean was arranging his textbooks on the shelf above his desk.

“Heya, beautiful,” Dean said to him.

Cas flushed. After all this time, he still wasn’t used to Dean casually spouting terms of endearment.

He felt self-conscious every time it happened.

But he also felt loved.

Castiel picked up the flyer he’d been given along with his key when he checked in to the dorms. The program listed the weekend’s orientation activities.

“Should we go to the cookout tonight?” Castiel asked.

“What kinda food’re they gonna have?” Dean replied.

“Burgers. They’ve even got options for vegetarians.”

“Pussies,” Dean muttered.

“Should we go?”

“Sure, why not? Who turns down free food?”

Someone knocked on the door, and Castiel bounded off the bed to open it. On the other side stood a man with large brown eyes.

The newcomer held out a hand. “Hey, just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Aaron Bass. Your RA.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you.” He shook Aaron’s hand. “Castiel Novak.”

“Ditto, Castiel.”

Castiel got a whiff of a sickly sweet scent, something suspiciously resembling marijuana.

“Hey, there. I’m Aaron Bass. Your RA,” Aaron said when Dean came up behind him.

“Name’s Dean,” Dean replied.

“You goin’ to the cookout tonight?” Aaron inquired.

Dean shrugged. “We’ll see.” He eyed the room behind himself. “Well, we’ve got some unpackin’ to do. See ya later.”

“Bye,” Aaron called as he retreated.

“He was high,” Castiel observed.

“Mmhmm.”

Dean had left the door propped open, and now two boys stopped by. “Hey,” the one with a mullet called. He’d obviously love Dean’s music collection. “We live next to you guys,” he announced, pointing a thumb to his right.

“Oh. I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.”

“I’m Ash,” the mullet-clad man added. He gestured at the fresh-faced boy beside him. “This here’s Samandriel.”

“Samandriel Sky,” Samandriel chimed in. He wore a cross on a brown leather cord.

“Samandriel,” Dean repeated. “Hey, that’s kinda like your name, Cas.”

“Yes. They are both angel names,” Samandriel confirmed. He turned to Castiel. “I’ve never met anyone outside of my community with a name like mine. Is your family religious?”

Father was, and as far as he remembered, Mother had been as well. “I suppose you could say that,” Castiel responded. Mother had chosen his name, actually, or so Michael had told him. He’d said he remembered her stumbling upon it in a book she was reading and liking the way it sounded.

Mother. It still hurt to think of how she’d abandoned him and his brothers.

Sometimes he wondered if she was still alive.

He suddenly felt a stab of sadness.

He tried to suppress it and focus on the two boys in front of them.

“Oh. My family is religious,” Samandriel explained. He scratched his neck nervously. “Where I grew up—it is very different from here.”

“You guys goin’ to the cookout tonight?” Ash asked.

“Guess so,” Dean replied.

“Okay. See you then!”

Dean chuckled to himself after they’d moved on. “That’s a weird pair of roommates, wouldn’t you say?” He frowned when he met Castiel’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel shrugged. “I was thinking of Mother.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean pecked Castiel on the lips and smoothed a thumb over them. “C’mon. This is a happy day, hmm?”

“Yes.”

Castiel returned to setting up his side of the room. Twenty minutes later, someone shouted into their room, “Hello, neighbors!”

“Hey,” Dean called back to their visitor. Castiel listened to him introduce himself to the boy as he finished setting up his pillows. Unlike Dean, he thought his bed should be neatly arranged when he wasn’t sleeping.

“Hi,” Castiel said as he approached the other two. The newcomer’s eyes lit up. “I’m Castiel.”

“Enchanté, Castiel,” the person said. “That’s not a name you hear every day. I’m Balthazar.”

“Also not a name you hear every day,” Castiel noted. He examined Balthazar, who appeared to embody the very definition of “metrosexual,” at least as Dean had described it. He sported carefully brushed dirty blonde hair, light acid-washed jeans, and a deep v-neck white shirt.

“Yeah, my family digs unusual names,” Balthazar resumed. “They’re trendy like that. Own one of the most upscale restaurants in Kansas City and Los Angeles. Celestial. A lot of celebrities have been there. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“No, I don’t believe I have,” Castiel confessed.

Balthazar pasted on a bright smile. “If you ever want to go, I’ll be happy to get my parents to make you the best meal ever. Gratis. Then we can fly to LA in my family’s private jet, and I’ll introduce you to some of the most famous names in Hollywood. How does that sound?”

Hmm. This Balthazar was awfully friendly. “That sounds lovely. Perhaps we can do that once we get to know each other better.”

“Oh, we’ll _definitely_ be getting to know each other better. We’re neighbors.”

Dean threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close. “If you’re such a hotshot, then why didn’t you buy your way into some fancy-ass college? Couldn’t get into anywhere else even with mommy and daddy’s money?”

Castiel shrugged off Dean’s arm. “That was rather rude, Dean.” For some reason, Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

“What can I say?” Balthazar answered. “It sounded quaint to a sophisticated person like me.” Dean glared at him, but Balthazar ignored him and turned to Castiel. “I’ll be seeing you at the cookout, yeah?”

“We’re not goin’ to the damn cookout,” Dean snapped.

“We’re not?” Castiel spluttered.

“No.”

“That’s too bad,” Balthazar sighed. “Well. See you around, Dean. Castiel.” He winked at Castiel then strode away.

Dean shut the door behind him and gritted his teeth.

“Why were you so mean to him?” Castiel asked.

“Guy’s a douche,” Dean replied.

“He seemed perfectly friendly to me,” Castiel opined as he sat on his bed.

Dean snorted. “I feel sorry for his roommate.” He perched on the bed next to Castiel. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?”

“Predatory. Dude was _dyin’_ to jump your bones.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Surely Castiel was wrong. No one but Dean and Meg had ever shown explicit interest in him. “Are you jealous?” Dean blushed but said nothing. Smiling to himself, Castiel marveled at the implications. “You are!”

Dean massaged Castiel’s forearm. “Can you blame me?” he murmured.

“You shouldn’t be. I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Not even an attractive boy next door,” Castiel teased.

Dean snorted. “You think that guy’s attractive?” He injected bravado into his voice, but Castiel detected a note of insecurity underneath the bluster.

“Not nearly as attractive as you.” He leaned in, and they melted into a passionate kiss.

God, he would never get tired of this.

“So, are we going to the cookout or not?” Castiel inquired when they parted to catch their breath.

“I don’t feel like being around so many people right now,” Dean admitted. “You think Benny and Jo are going?”

Benny and Jo were their only friends who were also attending KU. Charlie had gone to Stanford, and Anna and Hannah had just started at Rhodes College. Garth and Andy were still living in Lawrence, though. Garth was commuting to Johnson County Community College, and Andy wasn’t further pursuing his education. Meg had moved to New York two weeks ago with nothing but a few dollars and some clothes. Castiel worried about her sometimes, all alone in a big city without resources, but Meg had scoffed at his concern and alleged she knew how to take care of herself.

“Maybe? Would you like to just hang out with them?” Castiel replied.

“Dunno. You wanna go to the cookout?”

Castiel thought about the question. He should probably try to meet new people, but he wasn’t sure he felt like attending the cookout. “You know I don’t like crowds.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Yes. Yes, I mean that’s a no.”

Dean laughed. “We could just stay in tonight.”

“Spend our first night of college alone in the dorm?”

“Why not?” Dean lowered his voice. “I’ve been looking forward to it. Just you and me.”

“You have?”

Dean bent down and bit into his clavicle. Castiel sighed at the sensation. “Yes.”

“Dean,” Castiel exhaled, falling back on the bed.

As Dean rolled up his shirt and worshipped him with his mouth and hands, Castiel contemplated what his life had become.

Father lived alone now, jobless and shunned by most of his former associates.

Gabriel and Kali’s relationship was still going strong.

Michael had grown to like Dean, and he and Gabriel were now on cordial terms. He had sought therapy for his problems, and he was slowly working through them.

He still struggled mightily, as Castiel had witnessed while living with him this summer. But he was improving.

Like Castiel.

And Dean.

He and Dean had become intimately acquainted with each other, carnally as well as emotionally. For him, those bonds were inextricably entwined.

A pleasant heat coursed through his veins, deep and sensual.

He grasped tufts of Dean’s hair, yanked him up, and planted his mouth on his, sucking on his bottom lip.

Dean moaned into his mouth.

He couldn’t wait to dig deeper into Dean, to have Dean dig deeper into him.

With Dean, Castiel knew he could charge into the future, savor the good times and handle the setbacks.

It would be perfectly imperfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the U.S., students are often assigned a random roommate if they don't request a specific one, and that's the case for Ash and Samandriel.
> 
> An RA is a Resident Adviser, an older student who lives on the floor and organizes events on the dorm floor and is available for questions, etc.
> 
> Thanks to [consultingcas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingcas/pseuds/consultingcas), who beta'd this from Chapter 11 onward. (The first 10 chapters are unbeta'd.)
> 
> Whew. This is the longest thing I've ever written, period. I had no idea this fic would get so long, but I guess that's what happens when you set out to cover the time span of an entire school year.
> 
> I have a few ideas for time stamps, but I don't want to ruin a good thing with them. Perhaps if there's sufficient interest, I might write a few.
> 
> I hope the ending is satisfactory. Thanks to all you wonderful readers out there! I appreciate you so much. You've kept me motivated, and I'm always excited when I see someone has commented and/or left kudos. 
> 
> Next, I'm off to work on my DCBB. Meanwhile, I can be found on tumblr [here](http://angelofthemoor.tumblr.com/).


	34. Timestamp: The Trouble with Balthazar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean becomes jealous of the amount of time Castiel spends with Balthazar, and Balthazar makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to finally be posting this timestamp! I've had a few ideas in my head since I finished _Paradise Circus_ , and I hope to find the time to write more of these (if there's a demand). 
> 
> This timestamp takes place a couple of months into Dean and Cas's first year of college. 
> 
> Warning for unwanted sexual advances, including nonconsensual kissing.
> 
> FYI, this timestamp is unbeta-ed.
> 
> Comments and kudos, as always, are very much appreciated. If there's enough interest, I'll try to continue with the timestamps.

Dean stirred awake when he heard Cas shut the door. He blinked in the half-light cast by the small lamp on the far side of the room, the one sitting between Cas’s desk and the door.

“Oh,” Cas exhaled. “I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dean glanced at the digital clock resting atop the dresser across from his bed. 3:02 a.m. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. He’d been wondering about it since Cas had failed to show up for dinner with him, Benny, and Jo. He’d called Cas several times but gotten no answer. He’d meant to stay up waiting for Cas to return from wherever he’d gone, but he’d fallen asleep on top of his blankets.

“Studying. With Balthazar.”

“Seriously? Do you know how friggin’ late it is?”

“I am aware.”

Cas knew how uneasy Dean felt about his friendship with Balthazar. He insisted that he and Balthazar could never be anything but friends, that Balthazar respected his relationship with Dean. But he saw how Balthazar studied Cas when he thought Cas wasn’t looking, the way his eyes drank in Cas’s body. But anytime Dean brought up the issue, Cas dismissed his concerns as ludicrous.

“That’s really all you were doin’, huh? ‘Studying’?” He called bullshit. Cas insisted on getting at least six hours of sleep, and he had class at eight tomorrow morning.

Cas bristled. “Yes.”

“Like hell you were.”

Cas crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Dean. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shrugged. “Y’know.”

“No, I do not. And I don’t like your tone.”

“Dude, you missed dinner. We were supposed to meet Benny and Jo.”

Cas froze. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“What’d you do, have dinner with Balthazar?” Cas inclined his head. “Is that a yes?” Cas nodded. “Fuck. You ditched us for that skeezeball?”

“I told you. We were studying. And he is not a skeezeball.”

Dean snorted. “What were you ‘studying,’ then?”

“We have a chemistry midterm tomorrow.”

Dean hated that Balthazar and Cas shared two classes. It gave that douchebag an excuse to insinuate himself into Cas’s life.

And dammit, he was tired, and just so _over it_. Cas couldn’t be that fucking clueless. Had they really been studying for over _ten damn hours_?

“You know how I feel about him,” Dean snapped.

“Yes. And you know that you do not dictate what I do with my life. If I want to spend time with Balthazar, that is my affair.”

Dean tried not to focus too much on that word. _Affair_. But then why was Cas’s skin so flushed, his eyes so wild? “No, it’s not just your business anymore, not when you ignore your friends and _don’t answer my phone calls_.”

“I put my phone on silent so I could focus on the material.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?’

“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”

Cas recoiled. “I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

“He's a better kisser than me, huh?”

“What?”

“A better lay?”

Cas’s eyes flashed with some inscrutable emotion—hurt? No, anger, more like. _Righteous_ anger. “You are being absurd.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Cas grabbed a duffle bag from underneath his bed and started stuffing clothes into it.

“Where’re you going?”

Cas stilled, fixing Dean with baleful eyes. “Balthazar’s.”

“You’re kidding me. You expect me to believe you’re not fucking, then?”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. We’re not.” He zipped up the bag, picked up his backpack, and strode out the door. The hall light cast a glow on his figure in the doorway. “You need some time to cool off.”

And with that, he was gone.

Dammit. Dean didn’t know what he’d been thinking. He didn’t believe Cas was cheating on him with Balthazar, not really. Dude was too honest for that. But Cas’d been spending more time with Balthazar than him lately, and it rankled. He couldn’t help but speculate about whether Balthazar was in the process of somehow stealing Cas from him.

It was only a matter of time before someone did. Cas was too good for him. He should’ve gone to fucking Yale or wherever; then maybe he would’ve found a new boyfriend (or girlfriend) that would’ve been worthy of him, not that asshat Balthazar.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel didn’t know what’d gotten into Dean. He knew very well that Castiel could never think of Balthazar as more than a friend.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have fled to Balthazar’s, but where else could he have gone? His other friends were also Dean’s friends, and he wanted to escape into neutral territory.

Balthazar commiserated with him when he explained the situation. He’d paid extra to have his own room, but the room still contained two beds, so it was a great place for Castiel to sleep until Dean came to his senses.

Come morning, he was emotionally and physically exhausted, and at the urging of Balthazar, indulged in a Red Bull for the first time in his life. He quickly realized it had been a mistake. For the duration of the test, he was awash in jitters and could barely focus.

He and Balthazar had a biology exam a scarce two days after that. The confrontation with Dean had left him continually feeling wrung out, and he couldn’t concentrate or even stay awake. Balthazar supplied him with energy drinks, which didn’t help with the lack of concentration but did at least keep him from falling asleep. They studied almost nonstop for biology.

He almost crashed after the biology exam finished. He refused to consume any more energy drinks, but he still had an English paper to work on. He knew he wouldn’t be able to write if he had any more. He tried to take a nap before beginning to work on the paper, but he couldn’t.

As he set up his laptop on Balthazar’s spare desk, he checked his cell phone for the millionth time in the past two days. Dean still hadn’t called, and Castiel was not giving in first. Dean had been in the wrong, not him.

He spread his papers on the desk beside the laptop and opened up a Word document. His eyes drooped as he typed the heading.

The door opened and closed behind him. “Cassie!” Balthazar exclaimed. Castiel flinched at the loud noise. He thought about telling Balthazar yet again that he hated that nickname, _Cassie_ , but he was too tired to bother.

“You look so tense,” Balthazar observed.

Castiel realized that he was indeed tightly wound. “It’s been a trying couple of days.”

“Here, let me help you relax.” Hands clasped his shoulders, rubbed them, massaged his upper back. He felt his muscles loosening up. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm.” It soothed him, the rhythm of Balthazar’s hands, and he felt himself drifting.

Suddenly, Balthazar spun the chair around. It jolted Castiel into awareness. Balthazar’s wide eyes met his. “Y’know, Cassie,” he intoned. “If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t treat you like that jealous bastard Dean. I wouldn’t care what you did or who you hung out with.”

“What?” Castiel breathed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. When they’d discovered they shared classes and agreed to study together, they’d decided on this. Castiel had been clear. He could never consider Balthazar as more than a friend. Balthazar had agreed to respect that.

Balthazar cupped his chin in both hands.

Then planted his lips on Castiel’s.

Castiel tried to summon the energy to pull back. He was just so _drained_.

The kiss grew more insistent. Balthazar pried Castiel’s lips open with his tongue then snaked it around Castiel’s.

A panicked sound emanated from the back of Castiel’s throat.

His mouth burned with the taste of bile.

Balthazar straddled his lap; one hand migrated to his shoulder. Balthazar’s hard penis pressed against his thigh. Balthazar drew back, and the other hand slid toward the button of Castiel’s jeans.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Balthazar purred.

He had to gather the strength to speak before this went any further. “Balthazar, please stop.” His voice came out cracked, hoarse.

Balthazar smirked. “Quit playing hard to get, Cassie. The jig is up.”

“I’m not—” His eyes watered, but he couldn’t show weakness. Not now. Balthazar might find a way to take advantage of it.

“I know you want it, too. That’s why you came running to me.”

“No—” Balthazar’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and Castiel had to stop this _now_ —

He kneed Balthazar in the groin.

“Ow! What the hell, Cassie!”

Castiel used the moment of surprise to slither out of the chair. He grabbed his things and dashed out of the room.

“Don’t be like that, Cassie!” Balthazar called after him.

Castiel swiped at his eyes. He couldn’t go back to Dean now. He’d look like a fool, but that wasn’t the worst part. He and Balthazar had _kissed_. He’d been unfaithful, and it tainted him.

But where else could he go?

The library. It was open twenty-four hours a day. He could take showers in the gym while squatting in some isolated corner in the library.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean was an idiot.

He should’ve called Cas the morning after their fight. It’d been his fault, after all.

But then he’d thought he should let Cas have his own life. If he really wanted to see Dean, he would get in touch himself. And if he preferred Balthazar’s company—well, Dean would be a big man about it.

Ash and Samandriel from next door were keeping an eye out for Cas. Balthazar lived on the opposite end of the long hallway, and they occasionally talked to him.

But almost a week after Cas had left, they told him they were worried. They hadn’t spotted Cas for a couple of days, and Balthazar hadn’t heard from him, either.

Where the fuck could he be? If anything had happened to him . . .

At lunch, he explained the situation to Jo.

“I know where he is,” Jo declared brightly.

Dean gaped at her. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s been camping out in the library.”

“Huh? Why?”

Jo shrugged. “Wouldn’t say. Just made me promise not to tell you.”

“Then why did you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you guys need to work out your shit.”

Dean abandoned the remainder of his lunch. Jo gave him directions to Castiel’s spot in the library, and Dean rushed off.

It took a good amount of time to find Cas deep in the library’s stacks. When he finally located Cas, sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning against a shelf with a blanket draped around his shoulders, he couldn’t help but grin. “Cas!”

Cas shrank back. “Hello, Dean,” he said tonelessly.

Dean settled on the ground beside him and frowned. Cas’s hair was sticking up every which way, and he had big circles under his eyes. His skin had a waxy sheen to it. “You look awful.”

“Thank you, Dean.” He was being sarcastic, right? His voice had been flat.

“No, seriously. What’s wrong?”

“I kissed Balthazar.”

Dean forced himself to keep smiling. “What?”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cas closed his eyes, and stray tears trickled down his cheeks. “It appears you were right about him.”

“Yeah?”

Cas nodded and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “I couldn’t . . . I didn’t stop him in time.” His eyes fluttered open.

For a minute, Dean couldn’t breathe. “Are you telling me he _forced himself on you_?”

Cas’s gaze sharpened. “We didn’t have sex.”

He hadn’t been thinking things had gotten that far, but a part of him was glad to hear Cas confirm it. “But you said you kissed?”

Cas swallowed. “Yes, but I didn’t mean to—I would’ve never . . . I got away as soon as I could.” Indignation bubbled up in Dean. Cas continued, “I understand if you don’t want me anymore—”

Wait, _what?!_ “Cas—”

Cas’s eyes darted around nervously. “I was unfaithful—”

“No, Cas, you weren’t—”

“I—”

“No. This wasn’t you, okay? It was _him_. Motherfucker.”

He wrapped his arms around Cas, ran a hand through his hair and kissed his forehead. “You did nothing wrong.”

“But I feel so guilty,” Cas sobbed.

“Don’t.” He kissed each of Cas’s eyelids. “I love you, Cas. I just want you to come home.”

Dean continued to stroke Cas’s hair, and Cas stayed silent for a few minutes. “Okay,” he said at last. He snuggled underneath Dean’s chin. “I love you, too.”

“Hmm.” They remained on the floor unmoving for some time. Eventually, Dean pulled back. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.”

“Dean, don’t.”

“Why’re you protecting him?”

“I don’t care about him. I care about _you_. You’ll get in trouble.”

Dean stood up. “Doesn’t matter. That dick needs to pay.” He stalked through the library toward the exit, and Cas trailed after him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

“Dean, this is not a good idea,” Castiel told his boyfriend yet again. He’d been overjoyed to learn that Dean didn’t blame him, and he was incensed with Balthazar as well. Still, Dean could get charged with assault, perhaps, or even expelled.

Dean stormed into the dorm building and up the stairs to their floor. Castiel hoped Balthazar was out.

Dean knocked on Balthazar’s door, and a second later, it swung open.

“Well, hello there,” Balthazar sibilated, nodding at each of them in turn. “Dean, Cas.”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean seethed.

“Excuse me?”

Dean punched Balthazar in the eye. Balthazar’s hand flew to the spot. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“You know what. You tried to take advantage of Cas.”

“Oh, you’re defending Cassie’s honor. How sweet.” Dean swung at Balthazar again, but Balthazar caught his wrist. He twisted Dean’s arm behind him, and Dean grimaced in pain. Balthazar flung him to the ground and turned to Castiel. “You see how violent he is. Is that really what you want?”

At that moment, all of Castiel’s fury, hurt, and embarrassment coalesced. He hated Balthazar fervently, despised that little self-satisfied smirk on his face. How could he have ever believed the sincerity of Balthazar’s friendship? He’d just been waiting to make his move.

His hand formed a fist, and he struck Balthazar in the nose. Balthazar stumbled backward and clasped his nose. His fingers came away stained red. “I’m bleeding,” he whined.

 Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Good.”

A few others had congregated round the trio, and now Aaron, the RA, appeared. “Okay. Break it up,” Aaron directed.

Balthazar pointed an accusing finger at Dean and Castiel. “They attacked me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll deal with them.” He turned to Samandriel nearby. “Why don’t you take him down to Health Services?”

“Okay,” Samandriel replied. Balthazar followed Samandriel to the stairwell.

“I don’t really want to report you,” Aaron told Dean and Castiel once the crowd had dispersed. “Smarmy bastard probably deserved it, anyway.” Dean chuckled. Castiel attempted to scowl at Aaron’s obvious favoritism, but he couldn’t hold on to the sentiment. Now that Balthazar had shown his true colors, he couldn’t help but agree.

“Just consider this a warning,” Aaron concluded.

“Okay. Thanks,” Dean responded.

Castiel and Dean slung an arm around each other’s shoulders and headed toward their dorm room.

xxxxxxxxxx

A week later, Balthazar transferred to another dorm building.

 _Good riddance_ , Castiel and Dean agreed.


	35. Timestamp: Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel rescues a kitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another short timestamp that's been in my head for a while. This'll probably be the last one I post for a long time, possibly ever (unless there's a demand).
> 
> This takes place sometime during Dean and Cas's first year in college (after the previous timestamp, obviously).
> 
> As always, I treasure comments and kudos! Thanks for reading!

Castiel was walking back to his dorm after class when he found her.

As usual, he had taken the less traveled way, insinuating himself through narrow spaces between buildings and avoiding the wide open. He hated crowds.

Passing the dumpster behind the history building, he spotted something moving within the trash pile overflowing onto the ground.

What could it be? He crept toward the small mountain of debris.

Maybe he’d imagined it?

But no, a cardboard box inched forward again. Just the tiniest bit.

What if it was a rat? He shivered at the thought. Perhaps he should just ignore whatever it was.

But what if it wasn’t a rat? What if . . . ?

He crouched beside the box, took a deep breath, and lifted it.

A furry gray ball stared up at him.

A kitten, almost all skeleton, its face smeared with dirt.

“You poor thing,” Castiel murmured. He picked up the creature and cradled her in his arms.

_You’re coming home with me._

xxxxxxxxxxx

It was almost midnight by the time Dean returned to the dorm room.

First, he’d eaten dinner with Benny, Jo, and Ash; then they’d hung out in Benny’s room, listening to the classics and playing video games.

Cas hadn’t wanted to come, claiming he desired some alone time. Dean understood that Cas occasionally required solitude to recharge, but damn he’d wished his boyfriend was there. Especially when he’d had to witness Benny and Jo cozying up to each other.

At least without Cas, Ash hadn’t been an awkward fifth wheel.

But Dean had still missed the guy. He never failed to misunderstand video games, and his flailing attempts at them always made Dean grin. Not to mention his weird questions about the music.

In the dorm, Cas was still awake, seated at his desk with his nose buried in a book.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him without looking up.

“Hey, Cas.” He frowned. “Not in bed yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” Cas shut the book and smiled up at him fondly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed to himself. “I’ve got so much to tell you—” He yawned. “Maybe later.” He grabbed his pajamas and headed toward the bathroom to take a quick shower and brush his teeth.

Afterward, Cas switched off the light, and they both settled into bed.

Dean had almost drifted off when he sneezed.

“Bless you,” Cas whispered.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled. His eyes were watering now. He sneezed three more times in succession, and he thought he smelled something vaguely off.

“Shit,” Dean coughed. “I must be catchin’ a cold.”

Was he hallucinating, too? He could’ve sworn he’d just heard something skittering across the floor.

“Is that you, Cas?” Dean ventured.

“What?”

“That noise.”

“What noise?” Hmm. Cas’s voice sounded odd, like he was hiding something. _He’s a terrible liar_.

There it was again, that sound. What the fuck?

Dean hopped out of bed and flipped on the light.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas called.

“Dunno—” He was stunned into silence when he turned to face Cas. Peaking out from underneath Cas’s bed was—

A _kitten_.

He pointed at it. “What the hell is that?”

Cas glanced at the creature then returned his gaze to Dean. “What does it look like?”

“You brought a damn _kitten_ into our room without telling me?” He sneezed yet again. “You know I’m allergic!”

“I’m sorry,” Cas replied, sounding not the least bit contrite.

“It has to go!”

“She.”

“What?”

“She’s a ‘she,’ not an ‘it.’”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just get her the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“No? You know we’re not allowed to have pets. We’re gonna get kicked out!” Even if Cas didn’t care about Dean’s allergies, no doubt he cared about that. Right?

“We’ll just have to be careful.”

Dean gesticulated at the kitten. “I don’t want that thing—”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Cas bent down, picked up the kitten, and snuggled her against his chin. Dean had to admit, it was kinda adorable—

 _Shut up._ “Cas, she’s gonna require a lotta maintenance—”

“I know.”

“You’ll get tired of her.”

Cas glared at him. “No. I would never.”

“Cas—”

Cas stroked the kitten’s fur, and she purred. _Damn that’s cute._ But when Dean sneezed yet again, he scowled at the agent to blame.

“She was all alone, Dean. Starving. If I hadn’t found her, she’d be dead.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas preempted him. “ _Dead_ ,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes at Dean accusingly, as if he was somehow responsible for whatever’d happened to the kitten.

“Yeah, that sucks, but we can’t keep her—”

“Grace,” Cas interrupted.

“What?”

“Her name is Grace.”

 _Shit_. That was Cas’s mom’s name. The woman he still loved fiercely even though she’d abandoned him over ten years ago.

No way was Cas gonna give her up.

Dean guessed he was just stuck with Grace.

Well, she looked pretty damn loveable, he conceded reluctantly. He’d have to invest in some allergy medicine like _today_.

So he did.


End file.
